Shadows Of Eternity
by Oselle Atanvarne
Summary: A meeting on the battleground is the start of a friendship between and elfmaid and a woman. But that friendship is blighted by the appearance of Legolas.He chooses one, abandoning the other to the tortured jealousy of unrequited love. A darkly comic tale
1. A meeting on the Battleground

**Part One**

**A Meeting on the Battleground**

This is the story of how we begin to remember

This is the powerful pulsing of love in the vein

After the dream of falling and calling your name out

These are the roots of rhythm

And the roots of rhythm remain

**Paul Simon "Under African skies"**

The dark, sombre sky sent ominous shadows over the wide plain of the Pelennor Fields, yet it was only midday. Before me, lay the blazing ruins of peasants huts, huddled like blasted beehives against the harbour-wall. As I advanced I made out the grotesque silhouettes of Orcs, swarming like ants over the village; devouring anything in their path.

Somewhere among the ruins, a woman screamed, but her cries quickly ended in a gurgled wail. The Orkish horde vanished as quickly as they had come, joining the main force that spread like a black sludge beneath the city walls.

I moved forward, blindly, towards the village, my eyes stinging from the stifling smoke. I reached the smouldering remains of the village-gate, the squat posts forced to the ground by the power of the enemy, crushing those who had vainly tried to defend it. Charred corpses of old men and boys blocked my way, the only defenders the feeble settlement had. I stumbled through their mass, wincing as my foot crushed brittle bone, with a noise like a snapping twig. Passing through the gate, I stumbled into the village square and stood frozen to the spot, horrified by the sheer carnage that surrounded me. The beaten earth ran red with blood, which splattered wattle walls and congealed in foul pools; pouring from horrific wounds of the corpses sprawled on the ground. Women, old men and children lay scattered and broken, infants still clutched to their mother's dead breasts, heads lying loose on piles of dismembered limbs. The place stank of death and the sickly smell of roasting human flesh poisoned the air. The houses all around lay ruined and smouldering – doors hanging precariously, precious possessions scattered in the mud.

Steeling myself to the horror that surrounded me I ploughed on, through the village, searching for survivors, although I knew there would be none; the Orcs left none alive. Yet I couldn't turn my back on the desolation, I couldn't give up hope that someone still lived – for then I would give up all hope that this battle against evil could be won.

I reached the tiny harbour on the wide banks of the Anduin and stopped; I had crossed the village from end to end and had found no sign of life. Even the animals had been slaughtered and lay in stinking mounds in the gutters. I turned around, walking wearily back the way I had come. A shrill shriek stopped me in my tracks – I had distinctly heard the sound of a human voice. I followed it quickly, praying that the screaming would continue – that whoever it was would still be alive when I reached them. As I drew closer, the screaming became the clang of swords, echoing around the fallen gates. I dashed round the corner; notching an arrow to my bow, and fell sprawling to the ground, face down on a corpse. I winced as I was buried up to the arms in gore, as I struggled to my feet. I slipped again on the pools of blood as a few Orcs peeled away from the grotesque mass towards me, howling manically and waving axes and swords. Quickly dropping to my knee, I notched my bow, and drawing back my arm, fired it towards my attackers. I gave a grunt of satisfaction as two of them fell, pierced by the same shaft. I shot Arrow after arrow into their mass, until a scream from the centre reminded me why I attacked. I slung the bow over my shoulder; frightened I might hit their quarry, and drew my sword, dashing into the melee.

The bloodlust welled though me as I saw, at last their victim, a slender, dark-haired human maiden, forced back to the wall by the baying, howling mass, defending herself bravely with a rusty sword.

The Orcs parted on either side, mown down by my scything strokes, no match for the anger that surged through me. I saw the girl falter and I pressed further forward – all but three of our oppressors remaining. A single ray of light pierced the clouds, shining copper in her raven hair. The Orcs faltered momentarily, and, hope rekindled, I quickly despatched them. I leapt forward just in time to catch the fainting maiden in my arms.

The girl blinked and looked nervously into my face with troubled blue eyes. I was amazed at how young she looked – scarcely seventeen, her black, tangled hair and pale, smudged face making her look even younger. I sat her down gently and she vomited on the ground, whimpering in fear and relief. She quickly recovered herself, and looked gratefully at me at me "Who...What are you?" she stammered giving me a searching, worried glance. "Do not be afraid, I am a friend. My name is Osellë, an Elf of Rivendell." I replied, trying to keep my voice calm, though I felt like weeping. "An Elf, from Rivendell?" she enquired, smiling wanly, my identity giving encouragement "I knew of an Elf from there... My name is Vénea... Thank you for saving me."

I took her by the hand and helped her to her feet. "Come, we can't stay here, the Orcs'll come back to find out what happened to their kin – and we don't want to be around when they do. Let's go down to the river." I walked on, and she followed dumbly, still dazed and confused from her ordeal. She moaned as her eyes fell on the sprawled corpses that surrounded us. "I shouldn't be alive – why should I live when so many of my friends have died?"

"You could defend yourself, they could not," I said sadly, pulling her faster from the sight of death. Suddenly she let out a scream and froze to the spot, pointing a trembling finger to the ground. "My mother, oh God, my mother," she screamed, and fell upon the body at her feet. I knelt down beside her as she took the dead woman's lolling head in her arms, covering it with kisses. The corpse was of a tall, fairly slender woman of about thirty-five, her long black hair streaked with grey and falling over her pallid brow. Her brown eyes were glazed and blank, her brown skirts tangled and stained with blood from a deep wound above her heart. I wrapped my arms around Vénea's shoulders, "She would have died quickly, with little pain," I said reassuringly, lifting her to her feet. She struggled, dropping to her knees, unwilling to leave the corpse. "Come, we cannot stay here." I pointed to the leaden sky filled with circling carrion crows, and other, large black shapes even more terrifying. The cold hand of fear crept down my spine as the creatures let out a chilling, eerie cry. "Nazgul" I cried, forcing her down to the ground as the black, naked, stinking creatures swept overhead, their claws raking the rooftops. I caught a fleeting glimpse of its menacing rider, before they hurtled back into the sky.

Vénea crouched, frozen with fear, too petrified to protest when I pulled her to her feet and ran, half dragging, half carrying her, towards the relative safety of the riverbank. She collapsed to the ground and stared at me, her pale face stunned. "What… What where they?" she stammered.

"The Ringwraiths, or Nazgul," I replied. "They are the Dark Lord's greatest weapons. They were men once, but lured by greed and lust for power, they became servants of Sauron. Neither dead nor alive, they exist with no thought or desire save that of the Dark-lord himself. Their fell beasts were bred and tortured by the Dark Lord for them, to instil the maximum amount of fear."

She nodded dumbly, "And the Orcs?"

I shivered with disgust as I said; "Those horrific killing machines were once my kinsmen, Elves. They were corrupted by Melkor, the first Dark Lord and became the foot soldiers of the Enemy"

She nodded again sighing bitterly, "How can something so beautiful and good become so evil?" she sighed again, then something within her cracked and she burst in tears, as if her poor, tired heart would break. I put my arm round her and she wept on my shoulder, her body wracked with sobs. Suddenly, I sensed black shapes on the horizon, a host of black sails, bearing down the great river towards us that could only be more enemies. "Quick, get up." I hissed, seizing her by the wrists, forcing her to calm down. "We cannot stay here, grab your sword, we will fight." She looked at me, confusion in her tear filled eyes, yet gradually she set her face and they blazed with resolve instead. "Yes, we will fight, I will revenge my mother."

We ran together towards the jetty where the boats would moor, determined to slaughter our foes one at a time as they stepped off the boats, yet we had no need. For instead of the dull glint Orkish blades I espied the luxurious glint of gold, of Elven hair.

"They are Elves, we are saved," I cried as the head of that golden hair grew into view. My heart missed a beat as I saw the high cheekbones, the deep blue eyes and the smiling mouth that could only be an Elf, and Legolas at that.

Howls behind me revealed that the Orcs had seen the ships too, and I pulled Vénea behind a building as they jolted towards them. "About time too," their leader croaked, only to fall gurgling to the ground with an arrow through his throat.

The boat touched the jetty and Legolas leapt off, followed by a man and a dwarf. Together they dashed into the fray as the deadly Elven arrows hit their mark; and behind them grew hosts of the spectres of the undead, with swords and axes, looking for blood. We ducked down as the ghoulish army passed over our heads, life leaching from us, until we were rescued by the ill matched trio of elf, dwarf and man, and the darkness leapt from us like a shadow from the sun.

" Prince Legolas, Estel," I sighed as he two grew close, bringing so many memories of happiness and pain that I thought I would drown in my own nostalgia.

"Osellë," Legolas replied, "Why are you not safe in Rivendell? And who is this woman?"

"There is no time to talk," Estel replied, "come, we are here to fight, and so are they."

"Fight?" the dwarf scoffed "They're nobbut women"

"At least we have the advantage of height" Vénea retorted, silencing him with a withering look.

"Stop arguing and fight," I cut in, drawing my sword and dashing in the wake of the ghostly army.

Swinging my sword, I sent an Orkish head clattering to the ground, and I felt the bloodlust return. I advanced towards the confused mass of Orc and Wildman that parted in front of us, seemingly terrified at something that lay behind. Loud, trumpeting calls split the air, and the ground shook as I at last saw what the Orcs were running from. A huge grey beast pounded towards us on legs large as tree-trunks, its vast ears flapping, massive tusks raking the ground, while on its towering back perched a small tower from which arrows poured.

Swift as lightning, Legolas scaled its massive leg, and I watched in wonder at his figure gained its back, and single-handedly slaughtered the men that clustered its back like ants. The beast tottered, hundreds of arrows piercing its red eyes, swaying drunkenly. I could just make out Legolas' golden hair as he drove a sword through its head.

I gazed up at him in amazement as he leapt, lightly as a cat, off the stumbling beast, only to feel the hard bite of steel through my shoulder and the pain like an engulfing tide before I collapsed in to oblivion, fainting into the Prince's arms.


	2. Clouds in the East

**Part Two **

**Clouds in the East**

Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells

Lonely and lost to life for evermore

Save when to thee, my heart responsive swells

Then trembles into silence as before

**Byron, 'The Corsair'**

With difficulty I forced my eyes open, emerging into a world of pain, agonising pain that surged through my body that left me weak and faint; a dry twig broken in the swirling vortex of my torture. I leaned back, utterly spent; in all my years on earth I had never felt so powerless, so badly used. I was alone, alone in my agony. Yet, I was not completely alone. A pair of blue-grey eyes were staring intently into mine; someone was stroking my hand softly, whispering in Elvish words of comfort and support. "Legolas" I sighed as all the events of the day flooded back to me. "Where is Vénea?" I stammered, my dark eyes meeting his. The last time I had seen her was before the Orc struck me, before I had been plunged in to the agony from which I had just so lately recovered. "Don't worry, she is safe, rest now and allow yourself to heal, and thank Ilúvatur that you are an Elf, and so have survived what would kill a mortal."

I stared up into his eyes and felt my pain subside dramatically, felt my strength return and my heart hammer. I sat up, repressing a cry of pain as I stared him firmly in the eye. "No, I will not lie down when there is work to be done; I am here to represent Rivendell, with the blessing of Lord Elrond as his envoy; bearing letters to the steward of this place, and to Aragorn, son of Arathorn; not to lie here impotent and useless."

He pressed me down lightly, his hand on my chest, until I was again lying on the bed. He brushed my hair lightly from my face and kissed me on the forehead, lightly as the touch of a feather. "Rest now," he whispered, "You can do nothing in this state. You remind me of myself in my younger days, always stubborn, always wanting to be active. In a few days you will be better and can go about your task." He smiled again, and kissing my cheek, left me to sink back into oblivion.

I woke up. It was dark, I was alone. I could hear nothing; none of the gentle breathing whose absence had woken me, or the comforting whisper of those around me. I sat up, painfully, holding my body as if it was glass, as I gently swung my legs from off the bed and stood up unsteadily. Someone had left the tent just minutes before me; I could feel the shadow of a female form that had just passed. I crept out, brushing away the tent flap as I went, holding my shoulder carefully as I tracked the shape.

I stumbled, fainting, as I clutched hold of a tree to steady myself; summoning my strength to make my way to the tent where my quarry had so lately headed. I pushed away the tent flap and entered, avoiding the heavy snoring of the sleeping dwarf that lay across the entrance. I had never had much truck with dwarfs, short hairy things, and I wondered why Legolas could bear to have such a creature in his tent. Yet he had something else in his tent, something that had no right to be there. I realised then the absence of that breathing; Vénea had left me and was now sleeping in the Prince's arms.

I stifled a cry of anguish, even stronger than the pain that had so recently gripped me. She was in his arms, she was in his embrace. A human, a mere girl of seventeen had ensnared the heart of the Prince that I had for many hundreds of years striven for, but in vain. I returned to my bed, I know not how, and flung myself down, abandoning myself to my grief.

A few days later I was on my feet, ready to deliver my letters and then return to Rivendell, then hence to the undying lands, where I would nurse my love and pain for eternity.

I moved quickly out of the tent, and through to the city of Minas Tirith, that towered, white and beautiful above the plain, yet marred by the scars of the recent battle. I made my way through the gate unchallenged, except by a small creature that seemed only a boy, yet had the face of a youth of twenty, dressed in armour and bearing on his surcoat the White Tree of Gondor. "Lady, where are you going?" he asked me courteously. I stared dumbly at him for a moment and then burst in to uncontrollable laughter, the cloud of pain and tension that had been over me lifted by his bemused frown. "Of course, you're a Halfling. I apologise for my rudeness, yet this was the last place that I expected to see one of your kin." I paused, smiling at him "My name is Osellë, of Rivendell; I am here to bring letters to Aragorn and Lord Denethor from Lord Elrond."

"My name is Peregrin Took, a Hobbit, but you may call me Pippin. Don't you know that Lord Denethor is dead? He went mad, tried to kill his son and ended up throwing himself, blazing, from the tower-top. But I will lead you to Strider, I mean Aragorn, I'm sure he will be glad to see such a beautiful Elf." I stooped so that he could take my arm and he led me up the numerous stairs and through countless gates to the Great Hall of Minas Tirith.

The Hobbit pushed open the great doors, the guards winking at me as we passed. I looked in and saw Estel sitting at a round table, with an old bearded man dressed in dazzling white. He exuded a sense of power and magic that could only belong to a Wizard, to Mithrandir, known as Gandalf. On his other side, I drew my breath in sharply, willing myself to keep my calm as I recognised Legolas. I had not seen him since I had come upon him and Vénea in each other's arms. I ignored him as best I could as Peregrin announced me, concentrating on the figure of Estel who rose and beamed at me, then embraced me tightly. "Osellë; you are better; we have been worried about you; ever since you disappeared from your sick bed with no warning. I wanted to send out a search party for you but Legolas said nay, you'd find your own way back when you were ready."

"Legolas was right; all I needed was time to recover in spirit as well as mind. It is not a nice thing being driven through the shoulder with an Orc blade." Legolas winced, as if I had brought back unpleasant memories. I continued "I have letters for you from Lord Elrond; I had one for Lord Denethor, but I have just been informed that he is dead."

I handed over both letters to Estel, and stepped back, making for the door, but he motioned me to wait as he read. I studied his face carefully as conflicting emotions followed after each other like clouds driven before the wind. After a few minutes he spoke "Hear this. I came as a Ranger from the north, to defend this city because that is the duty of all free men; yet I come among you now in another guise. Lord Elrond has imparted to me the message that now is my time to take up the destiny crafted for me; now is the time to reveal my true lineage. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur. I have come to claim my birthright as High King of Gondor." There was silence throughout the great hall as everyone fell to their knees. A single beam of light from a window high in the tapestried wall illuminated the Kings countenance, seeming like a good omen for the future. Gandalf was the first to rise and to speak, his voice ringing through the hall, proclaiming the new King.

"Look, we must now to business. Sauron is not yet defeated, but halted for a moment in his stride. We must move quickly before he can build up his reserves. Remember, he will not be vanquished until Frodo's ring is cast into the fires of Mount Doom; the hobbit is lost and the likelihood of his completing the task is ever less as long as the Eye is concentrated on Mordor." The wizard seemed diminished, somehow older as he spoke these lines, as if he doubted what to do next.

A flash of inspiration struck me as I cried "Lords, if the eye of Sauron is concentrated on his own realms then we must draw his gaze. We must ride out for battle under the very gates of Mordor, and drag his eye away from his dominion to concentrate on us." When I was sure I had every eye I continued, "This will give Frodo the time to complete his task. It may not be a battle that we win, but at least we will have died saving Middle Earth from a worse evil." I felt the stare of the whole hall on me, weighing up my idea to see its merit. As I expected, it was praised unanimously, both Aragorn and Gandalf agreeing that it was the only possible solution. I turned to leave, but felt the gaze of Legolas full on me. I turned to face him, endeavouring to shoot him a look of contempt. Yet hundreds of years of love were too strong for me. My heart melted and I gave him a look of such fierce longing that he stepped back a few paces at the power of it. He returned my gaze, his eyes full of apology and regret. His look seemed to say, '_In another age, in another place I would have loved you, yet my heart has been captured by another, do not blame her or I for it._' I turned and left, my anger draining from me. I could not rebel from what fate had decreed any more than I could order my heart to cease loving him. I would be her friend and ally, Ilúvatur help her, she had few others.

In three more days we were riding together to fight the last battle of Middle Earth. Beside me rode Vénea, myfriend once more.


	3. Edge of Doom

**Part Three **

**Edge of Doom**

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,

That host with their banners at sunset were seen.

Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,

That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown!  
**Lord Byron 'Destruction of Sennache'**

We advanced silently, riding close, through the dark, ominous lands that seemed a cruel mockery of the beauty of Gondor. There was the same wide expanse of plain, dominated by a many-towered city and overshadowed by mountains. Yet the plain here was not green and fertile but scorched and barren; the city did not glimmer white in the sun but was black and menacing in a place where there was no sun, and the mountains belched fire and ash, overshadowing the valley in a shroud of noxious fumes. I felt Vénea moan beside me and I reached out and squeezed her hand. "I knew this place," I whispered "I knew it when the city of Minas Ithil was only comparable to Gondor itself, when this plain was lush, and what trees lived here were tall and proud, not gnarled and twisted stumps; when the water was considered beneficial not shunned like the plague." I suppressed a groan, as Legolas rode up and continued where I left of, his blue eyes troubled and his pale brow furrowed. "It makes you realise the true power of the force we are up against, one that can devastate utterly such a place and command such horrific hosts. I fear we will not succeed unless the Halfling completes his task in time."

Then I saw it. The burning eye of flame, the red ringed pit in which all the pains and terrors of humanity are absorbed, the piercing Eye of Sauron whose malignant stare perceives the deepest darkest terrors of each soul and bring forth the seed of evil buried in everyone; my gaze was drawn, irresistibly into its depths as the malevolence of the Eye turned from its own lands to the silent army that waited at its gates.

Aragorn rode forward and roared a challenge at the brooding citadel. It remained unanswered. He called again, desperation adding extra strength to his voice "Answer me, you worms of the dark. Hear my cry, you foul slaves of Mordor. The light has come. The light has come to liberate your stinking souls from your loathsome flesh. I have come to banish evil from my realm."

The huge gates creaked open as great waves of bawling Orcs, howling with bestial hate issued from the orifice to bear us down to dust.

The battle was the bloodiest and most desperate I had ever fought. The stench of blood and fear filled my nostrils as I strove on foot, my horse having been shot down beneath me. I fired my bow 'till both sides became so intermingled that I couldn't aim straight and had to use my sword instead. Trying to keep Vénea in my gaze I moved forward, only to lose her within a sea of corpses as I tripped over and fell headlong. I struggled to my feet just in time to fit an arrow to my bow and fire it at a huge Orc whose curved scimitar was flashing a few inches from her head. I dashed forward, sword flailing to finish off the rest of her assailants and preparing a witty retort, only to find her snatched from beneath my grasp by that damned Elf. I turned away, peeved that all my effort in rescuing her had been thwarted, Legolas gaining her spoutings of undying gratitude when I did all the work. I left them to it and carried on, looking for Pippin whom I had lost some time before. I had just caught sight of him when something made me stop dead in my tracks.

The cold hand of fear gripped my heart as I heard the haunting wail of the Nazgul. With a great effort of will I managed to snap myself from the trancelike state I had been cast into and throw myself onto the ground, just in time. I felt the rushing of air over my head and then the cruel, raking claws of the foul beast as it ripped hanks of hair from my skull as it passed. A few more seconds of that stupor and I would have been dead for sure.

I remained, crouched, head bowed, alone in a sea of death, my hands massaging my aching head. I paused, sensing a new clarity to the oppressive atmosphere. Something had changed; evil had somehow loosened its tenacious grip over this place. The Orc army could also sense this change. They ceased their carnage and stood in bewildered groups, unsure what to do. I looked up, at the great, burning Eye that had been such a part of the past years of terror; yet it was no longer facing us but focused on the dark shape of Mount Doom.

As I watched, it dilated to twice its side then diminished and vanished. As of one accord, the great Orc army turned tail and ran, only to be struck by crippling tremors as the great tower of Minas Morgul collapsed in a cloud of dust. Great rifts formed in the ground and the rank city sunk into oblivion. The air was full of the crash of stone on stone, the scream of the dark forces and the hot rush of lava as the ominous, brooding shape was cleft in two. "The Hobbits! The hobbits!" Gandalf ran passed me and I reached out a hand to grasp him. "What is wrong?" I asked breathlessly.

"The Hobbits are trapped on Mount Doom, while the lava pours around them, we must be quick or they will perish!"

"There are Eagles are there not?" I enquired, "I saw them attacking those Hell Bats. By Ilúvatur, one of them saved my life!" I paused for a second as the light of understanding spread over the old wizards face. I continued, "The Eagles are strong enough to carry a female on their backs, as well as a hobbit. My proposition is that, while you call the Eagles I will find Vénea and we shall ride the Eagles to the rescue." He beamed at me and without saying a word vanished. I shot a brief glance around me; the battlefield was full of bewildered and elated bands of Elves and men, finally realising the victory that they had snatched from the jaws of defeat. Yet nowhere could I see Legolas or Vénea. I caught sight of Aragorn standing alone and ran up to him. "Where have Legolas and Vénea gone, surely they have not fallen?" I gasped anxiously

He chuckled in reply "Last I saw of that damned Elf was when he was carrying the beautiful maiden away in his arms. Not the best time or place for such activity, but when you have been celibate for six thousand years..." I looked at him, shocked and then joined in his laughter. I felt a wild sense of elation intermingled with intense disappointment but shrugged it off. This was not the time or the place for such feelings, especially as the lives of two hobbits rested in the balance. "Let's surprise them" I giggled, feeling strangely childish. "I have to find Vénea anyway." We set off in search of the elusive couple, only to find them leaning dangerously close to each other, lips almost touching. I felt jealousy twist my insides as I remarked, "Oh, you are occupied. Shall we leave you two to it? This is a rather strange place to be indulging in such activities, but as Aragorn said, 'when you have been celibate for six thousand years, it's quite understandable.'" The two of them blushed deeply and I relented somewhat. I seized her by the hand and pulled her to her feet, hurrying quickly towards where Gandalf was waiting with the two great Eagles perched either side of him, both magnificent birds with glossy feathers and long, cruel, beaks that looked as if they could easily bring down even the largest horse " What are we doing?" she solicited.

"We are saving the hobbits, now get on" I snapped as I pulled her onto the back of one of the Eagles and I climbed onto the other and settled myself on its broad, soft back. Without warning, the two beasts took off. Vénea screamed and I thought she was shocked at he sudden lift-off, until I realised she was pointing at something more down to earth "Legolas!" she shrieked. Following her trembling arm I saw that golden warrior struck down with a stray arrow through his shoulder. I felt an overpowering urge to jump of the Eagle's back and run to him, but I suppressed it and took to comforting the distraught mortal instead. "Look, he is not dead, only wounded, Aragorn is with him, he will be fine. Concentrate on your bird or you shall certainly perish." She nodded miserably and called something that I was unable to hear as the infernal bird chose to plunge at breakneck towards earth. I held on tightly as the bird seized something in its talons and set off at a slightly slower pace back the way we had come. I looked down as it turned on its side and saw grasped safely in its talons a screaming hobbit, rather on the plump side but obviously much shrunken. I breathed a deep sigh of relief as I at last dismounted and picked up the fainting Samwise from the ground. Vénea did the same with a pale and thin Fordo, who seemed to be bleeding from what was left of his tenth finger. We made our way to the centre of the field, stumbling under our burdens, to where a capacious tent had already been pitched and beds had been laid. We soon deposited our burdens and Vénea, who looked as pale, drawn and bleeding as when I first saw her, promptly fainted into Aragorn's arms.

Seeing her laid on a free pallet I made my way over to a bed in the corner where I caught the glint of gold. There Legolas lay, his shoulder bound and the bandages red with blood already. I wept freely as he opened his eyes and stared at me. Yet his gaze was blank and feverish as he groaned "Ada, Nana, help me." Suddenly his eyes became clear and he seized my hand, I winced at his vice like grip, my tears falling faster onto his face. "Look after Vénea, for I fear I am wounded unto death," he groaned. Then he relaxed his grip and I saw, grief stricken, the vacuity return to his blue-grey eyes as he leaned back his flaxen head and sunk back into oblivion.

His eyes opened at last, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Yet when I looked into their depths, I could sense a hidden presence, a darkness – an evil that hadn't been there before, fighting for supremacy. "He is here; he will not leave me alone!" Legolas screamed. Suddenly, his body contorted, limbs thrashing wildly. I leaped up, just as a thunderclap ripped the silence and I was hurled to the floor.

I found myself gazing into the frantic eyes of Aragorn, as he pulled me to my feet. Gandalf sagged beside him, wearing the same expression of anxious powerlessness. "What happened?" I demanded, but Aragorn shook his head despairingly, pointing a trembling finger towards Legolas. Legolas stood erect at the head of the bed, flexing his limbs, his face contorted into an expression of evil enjoyment. "_Ah yes, what a beautiful body, so strong, so agile. It certainly makes a change to possess something graceful and resilient. Wizard, your spells are useless against the power of the Dark Lord. I have overpowered the Elf's mind and possessed his body. And now I will destroy you.__ You lose. Did you really think you could go against me and win? My tower has fallen but I prevail. This Elf will be my host until the final days of Middle-Earth. Know that you failed to protect him, just as you shall fail to protect all the other free beings of this land." _

I heard a moan behind me, and saw Vénea sit up, rubbing her eyes and yawning, utterly oblivious of the Evil that filled the room. I edged towards her, keeping my eyes on the lithe yet malevolent form before me, who stood, rocking with manic laughter, as Gandalf hurled spells and incantations at him, trying in vain to banish the Evil.

I reached Vénea, signalling her to remain still, trying to impress on her the gravity of the situation. She stiffened as she heard the demonic laughter, the colour draining out of her face. "Legolas!" she screamed, and the creature glared towards her, brushing Gandalf aside with desultory ease. _"Oh, the human maiden. This Elf undoubtedly felt something for her – he certainly put up quite a struggle when she was in question. Come let me set eyes on what I will kill." _He laughed evilly. I moved in front of Vénea, trying to shield her from the Evil Eye – but the foolish mortal pushed me out the way, and stood up, trembling with rage. "Yes, I am she. And I will not stand here cowed and fearful while that thing consumes my Prince."

"Vénea, don't be stupid, sit down. Do you want to commit suicide?" I hissed, but she ignored me, stepping towards the possessed Elf. The creature that wasn't Legolas held out lithe arms in a taunting embrace. "_Such foolish bravery. How like a mortal. I shall enjoy killing you I think. I shall relish your screams of agony, your begging and pleading for mercy. I shall savour the torment of that small shell of Legolas still lingering in this brain, which will writhe in anguish as he watches his body kill the woman he loves."_

I sighed bitterly. The Dark Lord had overpowered Legolas, but what was worse, I had proof beyond a doubt that whatever remained of Legolas loved Vénea, not me, and that there was no chance that my passion would be returned. With a scream, I threw myself at Legolas' body, just as it raised its hands to suppress the powerless wizard. I bowled the creature over momentarily, but it sprang to its feet, and the next thing I knew I was sprawled at the other side of the tent, next to an inert Aragorn.

"_Ha. Is that the best you can do Osellë? I thought you had more power than that. You cannot stop me. No mere lovesick Elf can hinder the Dark Lord. Now I will give you a chance to anticipate your imminent demise as you watch me kill this mortal." _

I tried to jump up, but an invisible force fixed me to the ground. I could only gaze in horror as the creature advanced menacingly towards Vénea. She held her ground, staring at him defiantly, although I could see the fear in her eyes as she glanced briefly towards me. "You cannot kill me, Legolas will not allow it," she asserted. "And if you do overcome me, I will not give you the pleasure of listening to my pleas for mercy. I will show you that not all mortals can be bent to your will."

The creature that possessed Legolas body laughed mockingly, contorting the beautiful features into an alien and evil snarl. He raised Legolas' hand above Vénea's head and a red glow of power shone around it. "_Now you die," _he hissed.

I gave a sobbing gasp, shutting my eyes so that I would not see her perish. Beside me, Aragorn and Gandalf struggled to their feet and we waited, agonized and powerless, for the deathblow to fall. Nothing happened – only silence. I risked a glance, puzzled at the strange lack of activity. Vénea still stood upright, and Legolas still stood before her, arm raised, ready to strike. Yet the arm trembled and grew weaker, the red glow faded. "_No! No one can defy Lord Sauron. I will destroy you all. You cannot stop me!"_ The thing howled in desperation, its voice cracking. Suddenly a thunderous bang split the silence followed by a lightning-flash of red light, and Legolas collapsed to the ground. "_No, NO_!" the thing screamed as it writhed and contorted, twisting the beautiful body into bizarre, unnatural shapes. "_Hate is stronger than love. I cannot be beaten. Love cannot conquer the Lord of the Rings." _The thing screamed, and a black stream of noxious smoke erupted from it's mouth, to circle around the tent and vanish in a final blaze of light.

"Love conquers all things," came a faint whisper, so weak as to be almost inaudible - Legolas' true voice.

"The Evil is banished!" cried Gandalf, and at this Vénea collapsed in a dead faint beside her beloved. With a cry of joy I sprang towards Legolas' motionless form and knelt beside him, reaching to cradle his head in my arms. I forgot completely Vénea's unconcious body, or the crippling revelation that he loved another. I was oblivious to everything but my elation at the banishing of the Evil, and the Elf lying in my arms. Disregarding all propriety, I planted a kiss on his parted lips. His beautiful blue eyes flickered open and I gazed into their depths, where inside them his soul shined, the Evil presence banished. I could have spent all eternity in rapturous contemplation of that gorgeous Elf, but a light tap on the shoulder recalled me to myself.

"Osellë" the voice of Aragorn rudely disrupted my reverie. "You cannot stare at him for ever, he needs attention." I nodded wearily, my happiness shattered, as Aragorn and I lifted him onto the bed. Vénea, who I had sorely neglected in her fainting fit, at last revived, and rose stiffly to throw herself at Legolas, covering him in tears of joy.

I felt a firm touch on my arm and Aragorn pulled me bodily from the tent. "Let's leave Vénea with her love eh?" he whispered gently, and I followed him unwillingly. Legolas was free of the darkness, but he could never be mine.


	4. Journey to Nowhere

**Part Four**

**Journey to Nowhere**

I love him  
But every day I'm learning  
All my life I've only been pretending  
Without me his world will go on turning  
A world that's full of happiness  
That I have never known!

I love him  
I love him  
I love him  
But only on my own.

**Les Misérables "On My Own"**

Vénea and I kept watch over the sickbed of the fallen prince as he tossed and turned, writhing in his delirium. The power of Sauron although banished, had left the Prince's mind bruised and scattered, plunging him into feverish dreams. He cried out and talked quickly in Elvish, seeming to live out the six thousand years of his life. Vénea was spared much of his misery, due to her poor knowledge of the language, but I received the full force of his distress. It pained me to tears to hear the beautiful prince moaning like a child.

He did not seem to recognise Vénea, and that hurt her immensely. I tried to explain that she was only a recent addition to his life, that he was reliving his childhood and early years, but she could not be consoled, throwing herself weeping on the pallet by his bed while I sat by her side. He seemed to remember me in his fever, yet spoke to me as he would to a young child.

After three days he opened his eyes. I looked into their blue-grey depths and saw that they were lucid and clear at last. He smiled painfully as I brought the candle closer to his face, and it cast lurid shadows over the canvas of the tent and Vénea's restful form.

"How is she?" he asked turning his head towards her. I helped him to sit up and he rested his head against the pillows. "She is still exhausted and really distressed at your illness. You do not recognise her in your delirium, which makes it ten times worse."

"But does she love me?" His words were a dagger in my heart. I wanted so much to tell him no, to separate them, but I couldn't lie to him. I nodded dumbly. He looked at me enquiringly, and seeing my misery, he tactfully changed the subject.

"And the battle?"

"Lord Sauron is vanquished, his city smitten unto dust. Aragorn is to be crowned, only waiting until you are well; and the Hobbits are safe, although Frodo is now nine fingered."

He drew breath for a second and then turned to me, seizing my wrist. "And you?" I smiled sadly

"I exist" I replied. "My shoulder is healed and I am in no physical pain – only here" I rested his hand on my heart, where he let it lie for a moment before withdrawing it slowly. "Only here, it is dead. But I can cope, I can wait and dream."

He sighed bitterly, my words obviously causing him much heartache. "I cannot help my love for her. You have always been so cold, so aloof, resorting to insults and taunts when I thought you were hurt, as if nothing could ever damage your icy heart. I was always half afraid of you. You were so pretty and sweet as a child, I was almost in love with you then, the way you always wanted to join in the games of Elrohir, Elladan and me; never accepting that you were a girl and so different – and then you grew up so quickly, and became cool and remote, using jibes or flying into rages when someone endeavoured to offer sympathy. I thought you hated me! When I saw Vénea she seemed so soft and feminine, so vulnerable, that I couldn't help but fall in love with her. By the time I realised your adoration for me it was too late."

"My parents died. I was made to watch as Orcs slaughtered them – my mother, pregnant, and my father suffering from a broken leg, so unable to defend themselves. After what I saw I had to grow up. And then the cloying sympathy of those people I was entrusted to, those ugly, old seeming Elves who kept pinching my cheeks and clucking over me like broody hens – no wonder I dislike pity. I did not hate you, in fact quite the opposite. I only really knew that I longed so for you after my parent's deaths, and by that time, I considered myself cursed. Everything I had ever loved had been taken from me; I thought if I acknowledged my love for you I would lose you too."

He leaned over and kissed me softly on the lips, and I felt his warm breath on my face. I wanted to reach out and embrace his poor, wounded body, yet something held me back and I pushed him gently away instead. "Remember Vénea," I sighed and moved away from his bed. I felt suddenly completely spent and threw myself on the pallet next to Vénea, falling quickly into unconsciousness.

His health improved quickly after that. He no longer needed someone to watch over him, he no longer kept to his bed; he no longer needed me to nurse him. I felt that my presence was unnecessary. I did not want to see the gradual realisation between him and the human that they were both totally infatuated with each other; I did not want to witness their courtship or inevitable engagement. I especially did not desire to behold their marriage, yet I knew that Vénea would never forgive me if I were absent.

I again made my way to the Great Hall of Minas Tirith with a heavy heart, to seek audience with Aragorn, again conducted there by Pippin and his cousin Meriadoc who was always with him. I found Aragorn alone this time, puzzling over a huge map of Gondor. I entered swiftly as he rose, and I knelt by his chair "Hail King, I crave a boon."

"I am not king yet," he laughed, drawing me to my feet. "What boon do you crave, my fair lady?"

"I feel I have no place in your city" I replied, keeping up the mock formal tone of the conversation to hide my distress in bravado." I beg your leave to quit this place, to return to Rivendell as an envoy of Gondor to hurry your Queen on her way. I will return for your coronation, sire, and the marriage of Legolas and Vénea, than I will probably follow Elrond to the West"

The smile faded from his face, replaced with a look of understanding. "I see. I have seen it ever since I knew you. You are madly, passionately, in love with Legolas; yet you also love Vénea and do not wish to see her hurt. You would rather surrender yourself to a lifetime of misery rather than to give her pain; yet to be a witness of their courtship would drive you insane. Yes it is best that you should go."

I felt violated at being read like this, the deepest secrets of my overburdened heart exposed to public view. I opened my mouth to shout, to lash out, to fall into a storm of tears, yet I shut it quickly and smiled wanly instead. He embraced me and kissed me lightly on the cheek as a brother would. "I can never know how you feel, to suffer from unrequited love, and to be so brave about it. Go, choose any horse you like from my stables, as long as it belongs to no one else, and bring me my bride. Perhaps true love will come to you someday; you have so many millennia ahead of you to find it."

I smiled gratefully and left without a word, making my way down to the stables. I saw Legolas and Vénea leaning, mid kiss, on a balcony above my head. I would not disturb them with my parting, I would creep away as was deserving to such a poor and lonely creature, I would not cast my meagre shadow over their bliss.

I stuffed my few effects into a saddlebag, threw myself on the back of the nearest horse, which, to my distracted gaze, seemed to be black and fiery, just matching my mood. I galloped passed bewildered Hobbits and men, and out of the open gates, losing myself in speed.

I did not know or care where I went, letting the horse carry me where it willed. At last it ceased its mad gallop and relaxed into a trot. I had drawn near the bank of the Anduin the Great. I would make my way down the river and rest in Lothlórien to unburden by heart to my aunt, Galadriel, before continuing on my solitary way.

Following the course of the river, my horse hastened on, while I dazed and perplexed, did nothing to hinder it, letting the steed take me on. I did not bother to eat or sleep; the void inside me absorbed my entire mind. I did not care if I died; in fact I welcomed death as a release, it made no real difference, as I was already dead inside.

The horse stopped where it willed, cropping grass or drinking from the river, yet for three days I never left its back; I knew that once I dismounted I would be unable to regain my saddle.

After three days I saw the many trees of Lórien rise above me, and I spurred the horse on until we were sheltering in its protective shadow. Suddenly, my last reserves of strength gave out and I felt myself falling through the air, my body jolting horribly as I landed, sprawling on the leafy ground.

I regained consciousness with the uncanny feeling that I had been in this situation before. Yet again I was lying on an unfamiliar bed, with no recollection of how I came to be there and with a golden head bending over me "Legolas" I whispered, with the insane thought that he had left Vénea and come after me; but as my eyes focused I realized that it was not Legolas that leaned over me but a woman, my Aunt Galadriel.

"Osellë," she whispered, her soft yet strong voice reverberating through my aching head, "Osellë, how are you feeling?"

"W-where am I?" I gazed groggily into her ice-blue eyes.

"You are safe, in Lórien, your horse is stabled and you will recover." Abruptly, the full force of my grief bore down on me and I wept afresh.

"What is it?" her irritation veiled under a façade of solicitousness.

"Why did you rescue me?" I demanded "Couldn't you see that I wanted to fade away, to die?"

"What has come over you child?" she asked, her tone exactly that which she had used in my distant childhood if I happened to cry, "You have always been quiet and reserved but never so disheartened or desolate."

I did not wish to tell her, so I shut my eyes, feigning sleep. I did not desire her sympathy. That of Aragon had been enough.

"You are in love" She guessed, smoothing my hair gently with a long fingered hand. "I can see that it is eating away your joy and peace, leaving you empty, used, and thrown away." She placed one long finger over my lips to quell denial. "It is that Prince of Mirkwood whom you love; the golden haired warrior has stolen your heart– yet he loves another, who is your friend."

"How do you know? What shall I do?"

"Know, there are many ways of gaining knowledge of others, you have taken no pains to conceal your heartbreak in your rambling. You should continue your task, Arwen and Lord Elrond are here, and they will leave with you for Gondor when you are well. In the meantime, eat, do not starve yourself – it is not yet your time to die." Saying this she took a bowl and spoon and sitting me up, began to feed me as though I were a baby.

She soon left me and I slipped back into the welcoming arms of forgetfulness; the emptiness inside me forgotten, for a moment at least.

I recovered, in spite of myself, in a very short time, my Elven body regenerating itself, although the abyss inside me remained.

I craved solitude, and spent many hours sitting on a platform high among the gold leaves of a silver-barked Mallorn-tree. I was still unsteady on my feet as I made my way to my accustomed tree and shakily scaled the rope ladder. I reached the top only to find that someone was there before me. I caught a glimpse of a red dress and dark hair before I turned to go back the way I had come, but she reached out a slender hand to stop my progress. "Come Osellë, sit by me, you must be tired." Arwen, fiancée of Aragorn beamed. I scowled murderously, while she moved to make room so that I could settle down unwillingly beside her; wishing even more that I could be anywhere but here, preferably in the grave.

"Be happy for me" she smiled "I am to be married to the man that I love." I aimed a slap at her rosebud mouth and moved again to the ladder, but she seized the torn hem of my filthy skirt and held me, I had to go back for I knew that if I pulled to hard the stitching would give way and would be left dressless.

"No, you must accept, for the time being at least, that the man you love is to be married; yet she is only mortal, she will die of old age or before and then your turn will come."

"What makes you think he would choose me, if his wife died? Ilúvatur grant that it will not be for a long time, as she is a dear friend of mine" I snapped, my frown deepening, "He has said himself that he finds me bitter, remote and cold. Anyway, he is so infatuated with her that he may decide to renounce his immortality, just as you did."

She looked at me critically, from the top of my head to the hem of my tattered skirt, as one would look at a horse one wished to buy "He'll choose you because you are beautiful; yours is that haunting, ethereal beauty that would capture a man's soul, preying on his mind. What is more, your beauty will not fade as hers will, but will be eternal."

I sighed again and again made my way to the rope ladder, she did not stop me this time but followed me, her tiny, red-clad feet on the soft silver rope, the red velvet skirts swinging out, revealing the dark blue undergarment. She seemed so happy, so contented with her lot, her joy adding radiance to her clear skin and dancing blue eyes – totally different from Galadriel's icy ones.

Yet I hated her. I hated her for her perfection, her beautiful dresses and doting father and brothers and her true love, whom she was soon to marry and who was such a friend of mine.

I managed to bottle up my feelings, to smile at her, as she took me by the hand and led me to her chambers in the long, low hall that was the home of Galadriel, which was roofed with living Mallorn branches, their golden leaves filtering the light, adding a soft glow to the rooms.

She ordered a bath, and a few servants came in, bearing a large wooden tub, which they filled with sweet, hot water. Arwen left the room and I relaxed into the bath, enjoying the roaring fire and the hot water on my tired limbs. She came back and began washing my hair, rubbing some sort of scented oil into it.

She handed me a sheet and I dried myself by the hearth while she disappeared. She came back, bearing an armful of clothes, which she laid out on the bed. Passing me a shift that I quickly put on, she showed me the garments.

"These are for you; they are dresses that no longer fit me, but would suit you to perfection."

I looked at them, dispassionately, at their fine fabrics and tasteful designs, trying each one on; first a velvet and silk dress with midnight blue bodice, low neck and long red sleeves, a black silk with high collar, a similar, green riding habit and, finally a rich, emerald silk with peacock blue underskirt. The overgarment and undergarment was edged with gold, the sleeves, long, wide skirts and a daringly low neckline. She again looked at me critically, as I stood, alien in the rich garments, passive while she turned me this way and that, playing with my hair. "You need a necklace," she said, reaching over to a gold inlaid casket on the dressing table and drawing out and emerald teardrop on a golden chain.

"This is for you" she remarked, handing it to me

"I cannot take it, it is too precious," I replied, she had given me enough – I found it painful accepting such generosity from someone I disliked.

"No, take it. It was given to me by King Thranduil of Mirkwood as a celebration of my betrothal to his son"

"Legolas, betrothed to you?" I stammered, in astonishment

"Do not worry, the match fell through; I did not love him. But Thranduil told me to keep it and give it to a lady that did, that is you."

I took it in my hand and read the flowing inscriptions engraved in the Quenyan tongue "i heri man col sina mire, selya harya i elwen dei i aryon dei tavas arda. sina melmë selya usta vorima an oirë" "The lady, who wears this jewel, shall have the heart of the heir of the woodland realm. This love will burn constant for eternity"

I smiled, warming to her as she fastened it around my neck "We leave tomorrow for Gondor, you will wear that dress for the wedding and you will outshine even the bride."

I changed into the red velvet dress and she led me, to the dining hall, where, at the head of the table sat Celeborn and Galadriel, Lord and Lady of Lórien, while on her right sat Elrond, his dark hair blending with the shadows around him, his clear, grey eyes gazing at me, the weight of memories upon his brow. He rose as we entered "Osellë, mae govannen, heri dei nyérë. Welcome, lady of sorrows. Rest yourself here; your heart is heavy, yet your beauty great." I smiled at him as Arwen took a seat next to her father, and I found myself between her two brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, handsome and dark, and as like as two stars. The meal passed well as I flirted with the twins, each of them trying to out do the other with compliments on my beauty. I laughed with them, hiding my disgust at the behaviour that was so unlike me. We chatted about out childhood games, but when Legolas was mentioned I fell silent, that hurt was too raw.

The next day we set off along the great river Anduin, the barges beautifully crafted of Mallorn trees. I spent most of the journey sitting in the bow of the boat and staring along the river, as the white tower of Minas Tirith and the mountains of Gondor rose on the horizon. Elrohir sat by me, crooning my name and singing Elvish ballads in a deep, haunting voice, but I was silent, screwing my courage to the sticking point for the role I would have to play.

We arrived and docked in the harbour, where I had gone with Vénea and where I had seen Legolas, his golden hair bright against the ominous clouds. Yet here the day was clear, the sun a golden herald of the arrival of Gondor's future Queen. I saw, standing by the city gates to welcome us, Legolas, perfectly healed, the sun golden on his head and on his fine tunic.

He came up and took Elrond's hand, embraced Arwen and her brothers, then turned to me. His eyes were sad, as he looked at me, unsure how to greet me. I smiled dazzlingly at him, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall, and embraced him, as one would a brother. He moved back and led the way to the city while I breathed a sigh of relief. The hardest part, the initial greeting, was over; I found that my love was still as strong, yet I could control my emotions and greet him.

The great doors opened as Arwen, veiling her face, moved to stand behind Legolas. He winked, as if this had all been carefully choreographed before. I took my place at the back, behind Elrond and his two sons; for them and everyone here it was a time of joy, but for me the events of the next few days could only lead to sorrow.

As I passed through the gates, I gasped at the sheer number of people who lined the streets; all dressed in their best and all praising the new King. The procession moved slowly on and I stared at the floor, feeling totally out of place in this joyful bustle. How I wished that it were over, that I could leave. At last, we arrived on the balcony, the prow of rock that jutted far out from the city walls, off which Lord Denethor had met his fiery death, and which was now covered with people. They made a path for us as we passed, right up to the very end, where Aragorn stood, singing, the crown of Gondor on his head. I felt so happy for him and Arwen, he had got what he had long desired, yet I despaired for it reminded me of the contrast of my lot to his.

He advanced towards us, until he stood directly in front of Legolas. He embraced him, then, looking over the Elf's shoulder, beheld Arwen. Legolas stepped aside, laughing, as Aragorn lifted the veil from her heavenly face and, taking her in his arms, kissed her while everyone cheered; everyone except me that is. I felt the sharp stab of envy pierce my heart as I saw Legolas gaze towards a woman in the crowd, before moving towards her. I followed him at a distance as he advanced. Legolas reached her, and I recognised Vénea, radiant with love, the glow making her face almost beautiful. Small comfort to me that my beauty far surpassed hers, she had got the guy while I was left in the cold. What use was a slender, lithe figure and haunting, ethereal beauty when the person I loved spurned me?

I turned away, suppressing the tears of agony as he took her by the hand and led her away...


	5. Smiling at grief

**Part Five**

**Smiling at grief**

I am doomed to silence

I cannot say a word.

Smiling while my heart is breaking,

Laughing while my world is shaking

My dreams collapse around me.

I long to have you for my own,

Yet I must fall alone.

**Osellë, 'Alone'**

We did not remain at Gondor long. The hobbits were eager to go back to the Shire; they had been worried by Frodo's vision in Galadriel's mirror, where the Shire was seen as a place dominated with factories and slave labour, instead of quiet country life. Anyway, Samwise was in love (it seemed to be some kind of contagious disease, infecting all who drew near it) and was eager to see her. Because it was on the way home, and because it was the place that Aragorn and Arwen had first met, the forest of Lothórien would be the site of the weddings, which would take place under the greenwood trees. Not, very well planned, I might add, seen as I, Arwen and her father had just left Lórien, but it was organized by a man, and a man in love, so what do you expect?

We made the journey on horseback, the summer sun lightening my mood somewhat, although, even lightened my humour was pretty grim – I was days from witnessing the marriage of the prince of my heart to my best friend. The days seemed to drag as we moved slowly towards the deepening shadow of the wood, my heart dying within me as I endeavoured to laugh and joke. I picked Elrohir and Elladan as my companions in the journey, although, more often than not, I had large crowds of mostly males around me whom I endeavoured to amuse. I occasionally shot seductive glances at Legolas, which he frequently noticed, despite his infatuation for the beaming woman who rode at his side. I saw little of Vénea on that long journey, except at night where we shared the same tent; yet often I was too exhausted to speak to her even if I wanted to.

"Osellë," she said on the third night of our journey while I was undressing, "What has come over you? Why are you behaving so enchantingly? Why do you always have large crowds of men around you, hanging on your every word? You are not normally like this; and Legolas keeps looking at you strangely as well, often when I try to talk to him he is miles away." I shrugged my shoulders and pulled my nightdress over my head. In reality, I was myself wondering at my unwonted behaviour but I didn't want to let her know "Why shouldn't I have a little amusement?" I snapped, impatiently "You have Legolas constantly by your side; you are too involved with him to notice me, why cannot I have some diversion as well?" She turned pale at this, her bottom lip trembling slightly at my cruel words. My anger faded and I felt remorseful at my unkindness. I moved towards her and embraced her, letting her tears mingle with mine. "I am sorry for speaking so harshly; you are perfectly right to wish to concentrate on your betrothed, but please let me also celebrate with you – and with others as well. She sniffed and nodded, and we gradually fell asleep, huddled together for companionship, my apology for my actions. She was innocent of doing me wrong, or of the pain I suffered; I would not enlighten her, poor girl, and so spoil the highlight of her life.

However, the merriment of the next day was somehow marred for her by her reception by the Elven lords, especially King Thranduil, Legolas' doting father. His aristocratic, high cheek boned face was especially cold as Vénea and Legolas dismounted and moved up to him "Ada-nîn" Legolas said, embracing him and beaming, despite the worry that I could see in his eyes. "This is my betrothed, Vénea, daughter of Estelle, it was in aiding a pregnant woman and delivering Vénea's mother that I missed the last yen, and sustained capture by the Nazgul lord; my sacrifice was certainly worth it." The father released his son, and smiled as his future daughter who came running towards him from where she had been talking to one of the stable lads, hiding the distaste he felt for such a union. She was almost to him, when she suddenly tripped and fell headlong, to land with a thump at his feet. I suppressed a laugh at her accident, feeling somewhat cruel to be laughing at her. Had I become as insensitive as that, to laugh at my best friend who had probably hurt herself and definitely ruined all chance of her marriage? What king would allow such a clumsy girl to marry his son? Yet my fears were unfounded as the king helped her to her feet. She stared at the ground and stammered an apology in faltering Elvish, which he waved away "Mae govannen, yende nîn." 'Welcome, my daughter' he said, smilingly, too courteous to laugh, although his son, Arwen and Aragorn were doubled up with laughter, and I felt myself succumbing to their mirth. Vénea turned sideways and scowled at her husband to be, which only made him laugh the more. Thranduil smiled again and embraced her, "I apologise for the rudeness of my son, it is terribly ill mannered for him to laugh so at a beautiful young lady who has just had a most unfortunate accident." She stepped forward and kissed him lightly on his smooth, yet careworn cheek, smiling again, "Hanta nin, adar nin, 'thank you my father' I am not normally so clumsy, but I have problems with flowerpots. I will try and be worthy of your son." Legolas guffawed behind her and she turned round, giving a look that should have turned him to ice where he stood, but only made him, and us laugh more. Thranduil led his son and future daughter away while the rest of us were left helplessly dissolved in fits of giggles.

I felt that a weight which had been momentarily lifted from my chest, fall on with redoubled force as the company dispersed. I found myself making my way to my favourite haunt in the Mallorn tree, yet I was followed. I ran up the rope ladder, regardless of my dress, and crouched at the top, trying to stifle my gasping breath; yet my precautions were not enough, as I soon heard light, Elvish, footsteps on the ladder. I saw the top of a dark head, thinking it was Arwen I stepped out of my crouching position to meet her, only to find myself entangled in someone's arms, being kissed passionately on the lips. I at last managed to free myself and to stare, dumbly at my assailant, Elrohir, son of Elrond. "I love you Osellë, I love you. Can you love me?" I surveyed him, aghast – and then I started thinking. He is handsome and influential; he is son of Elrond and brother in law to be of Aragorn, as well as being kind and generous, I could possibly be happy with him.

"No, I cannot love you," I sighed, "My heart is not free to bestow on anyone."

"Why. Who else but me could such an ice-maiden marry?" Elrohir demanded.

"Don't you see? Are you blind to all the events of the past two hundred years? Do you know that since my childhood, I have been passionately in love...?" I paused for a second, seeing the pain and bewilderment in his eyes. With difficulty I controlled my anger and taking his hands in mine, I said, scarcely raising my voice above a whisper "I am sorry, I cannot love you, for I adore Legolas." The true meaning of my words didn't seem to dawn on him as I released his hands and repeated much louder; "I love Prince Legolas!"

He stepped back, as if my words had been some sort of physical blow. My keen Elf ears heard a rustle of leaves from beneath our lofty perch, as I saw a dark shadow disappear down the silver trunk "Shush" I moved quickly, crouching, placing my hand over his mouth before he could speak "There is someone watching us." We crouched there together until I heard the footsteps, light, almost inaudible like those of an Elf, disappear towards the hall. I made to release my grasp on his mouth and stand up but he seized me by the wrists. His grip was vice- like, his face showing great distress and desire. "He is to be married tomorrow. You cannot desire a married man; he plainly does not love you. You should not strive over unobtainable targets, but reach out to what is already in your grasp." He turned my head, somewhat roughly, so I was staring into his fierce eyes. "You cannot marry him, but you can marry me!"

I was beginning to be scared at the sheer power and longing in his tense body. Struggling madly I at last managed to free one hand, striking him across the face. He darted back and looked at me, shocked and surprised. I felt my anger drain out of me at his look of sheer horror. I laughed weakly and muttered "There must be something wrong with this tree, it seems to have brought out the worst in me – I never usually use such physical contact but I have slapped two people in this spot. Please forgive me," I added desperately "You wouldn't let go." He sighed bitterly and turned to leave "I never knew you hated me so much"

"I don't hate you – yet I don't love you, gwador nin. In another age, in another place I could have loved you" subconsciously repeating the words that Legolas' gaze had delivered to me the moment I first knew that he loved Vénea. "But my heart has been captured by another. I cannot stop myself from loving Legolas; no more than I can die of old age – although I often wish I had been dead before this." I felt the tears build up behind my eyelids and I did my best to blink them back, but they fell, unbidden, hot and salty down my cheeks.

Elrohir looked at me, his heart melting, as he wrapped his arms around me and I rested my head on his shoulder, my tears splashing on his tunic "nallo-baw, gwathel nin, nallo-baw, im yelma cin baw; im cin míl – don't cry, my sister, don't cry, I don't hate you, I love you. Yet I will not hurt you, come, be my sister and go in peace – it shall be as if I never spoke." He wiped my tears and left, slowly dismounting the ladder as I stared dumbly at his disappearing head.

I stayed up there until the light began to fade, too drained to move or think – only able to exist in my pain and abandonment. It was pitch-black to all but an Elf, when I at last climbed shakily down the tree, muscles cramped from lack of movement. I made my way lightly to my chamber, the one that I had slept in before, and began to hastily pack my few effects – weeping all the while. I had almost finished when I heard a soft knock at the door. I hastily shoved the bag under the bed and opened the door. There stood Legolas, white and trembling. I suppressed the urge (I do a lot of suppressing urges) to throw my arms around him and kiss him, but instead said brightly "Do come in, you'll have to sit on the bed as there is nowhere else. Now, what is the problem?"

His eyes went misty, as if he was far away, and his voice, muffled as if by distance, seemed a voice from the fog. "I had a dream" He paused as if uncertain how to continue, "I had a dream that has troubled me greatly, so I have come to confide in you."

"Surely you should be speaking to Vénea; after all, she is your betrothed."

"Don't you see? It is about Vénea that I have come. I had a dream, a nightmare, that she was dying – and that my marrying her was the cause of it. I feel that I would only kill her if I made her my wife. Should I relinquish her so as to save her life?" he stopped and stared beseechingly at me.

I thought deeply for a moment. Here was my chance to end that marriage, to make him again free – and when he should need comfort for losing his love, and then I would be there. He would fall in love with the love I bear for him and forget all about her...

"I cannot really advise you on this, but," he stayed still, head bowed, like a man awaiting a death sentence, "But I feel that." I paused again, steeling myself for the pain I would inflict on myself. For the spear I would drive into my own heart... "I feel that you would be more likely to kill Vénea if you didn't marry her than if you did. Death may come in marriage, but it would be less sure and less certain than if you abandoned her."

"So you are saying that I should marry her and disregard my nightmare? I shall make her my wife – thank you" he kissed me through gratitude, his love blind to the pain my sacrifice had caused me. Yet he was not completely blind as he turned to leave, and saw the betraying tears on my cheeks, "Do not be upset, you are still my dear sister and I am most grateful to you..." He tailed off, as if unsure what action that he should take to cause me the least pain. After looking at me solicitously for a while he turned tail and left the room, shutting the door silently behind him. I collapsed on the bed like a broken doll, the strings that had been moving and supporting me cut with the shutting of the door.

I woke up, some hours later, to the sound of a scream reverberating through the room. I willed it to stop – and then I realised that I myself was the cause of that noise. I sat up with a start, to see Vénea rushing in, her face as pale as her nightgown.

"What has happened? Oh, you are fine; I thought you were being murdered!"

"Not that drastic, but I'll give you first notice when I am. No, I had a dream – a nightmare" I sighed, shaking myself awake, feeling a long way away, her face seeming distant.

"Elves rarely have dreams that they are unable to control, yet I have had one, my first – and so has another, and both in the same night. Is their something wrong with me?" I felt so vulnerable, scared. I thought that in my long life I had experienced everything in heaven and earth, yet it seemed that I hadn't. I was asking a mortal for help.

"What was it about?" she asked, sitting beside me on the bed and wrapping her arms around me. I laid my head on her shoulder and whispered, the images rising into my head, a painful memory – clearer to me than the concerned face of Vénea. I shut my eyes and began. "_I was walking through the forests of Lórien, a little child lost and scared; only instead of the rich green leaves, the trees were bare, and their once straight trunks were scarred and blackened. I was terrified by the blackness and the smell of acrid smoke, as if the forest had been put to torch – I was completely alone. My dream then switched to my old home, my parents – beautiful and dark haired sitting with me, the bulge in my mothers stomach kicking against my hand, my father beaming down at us, both at me and at his unborn child. I felt contented, happy, yet I had knowledge of a great fear soon to come. I stepped outside and again smelt the acrid sting of smoke. Running back, I went into the open arms of my mother, weeping, as a black wave of Orcs came swept over. They entered our room and dragged my mother outside, my father tried to stop them but he had broken his leg hunting and was unable to move to save her. A swift blade rough the neck finished him off, although he took two with him. I ran out with a knife from the sideboard and tried to hack at legs of those foul beasts, but they held me screaming as my mother was raped by some wild men in the group, before she was stabbed through the stomach, the baby killed, before she was herself stabbed. They hooted at my tears and considered raping me as well but decided against it. Instead they threw me into my mother's dying arms, the cruel, bloodstained blade coming towards my head..._" I shuddered as the tears fell afresh, trying to banish my mothers dying eyes, her screams and prayers for my safety from my vision.

"Did this really happen?" Vénea enquired

"Yes, it happened. I saw my parents murdered in front of me; Elladan and Elrohir only saved me from death. They are confirmed Orc hunters, ever since their mother was tortured and killed in a similar way. That event has changed my whole life; has changed my whole character.

Yet why am I telling you this? Why am I troubling you with images from the distant past, long before your great grandparents were even born, let alone yourself, especially on the eve of your wedding?"

"Come, you need to sleep, no I won't leave you, my bed is cold anyway," she whispered reassuringly. I felt myself drift asleep, as she stroked my head and cooed over me, as if I had been a baby. My last thought was of the ludicrousness of the scene, a human girl, scarcely more than a child herself, comforting an Elf many hundreds of years older than her, as if I had been but a tiny human child waking up after a bad dream.

I woke up being vigorously shaken, I moaned and tried to push them off "Its still dark" I groaned, finding Vénea bending over me. "Good, you're awake" She smiled brightly, radiant as the sun, which was conspicuousness in its absence. "Come, I have a bath ready for you in my room, I have just had one, you have been asleep for so long." I groaned, today was the day; my doom had come upon me. I felt like staying forever where I was, but suffered myself to be pulled out of bed and shoved towards her bedroom, where I slipped gratefully into the hot water. I dried myself and pulled on my shift, only to find Vénea similarly attired, and looking worriedly at a rather beautiful, pale green dress hanging from the wardrobe.

"You are going to help me dress," she said.

"Why? I have no skill in such matters, you should ask Arwen to help"

"No – she is busy getting herself dressed. I'll help you if you'll help me."

So I soon found myself helping her into the dress and arranging her dark hair for her, its highlights glinting copper in the candlelight. "Hurry up, the wedding is at dawn," she harried, dragging me to my chamber and seizing my dress from the wardrobe, the green and gold Arwen had chosen. "You look beautiful" she gasped enviously as I admired my reflection in the mirror, fastening the emerald teardrop around my neck, pulling it into place; the neckline was rather low, but no matter. I combed my hair, letting it fall into curls around my face, rather thin and pale now – I was eating rather too little. Vénea seized me by my hand and led me quickly out of the door and along the corridor. The first glimmer of dawn stole over the horizon as we left through the high doorway. Arwen stood outside with Frodo and Sam on both side of her, and a few Elf maidens around her. Elrond came up and took his daughter's hand, while Gimli approached, looking rather embarrassed, and taking her hand. "I'm here to give you away," he muttered gruffly as she laughed a high, ringing laugh, clear as a bell. Just as we were about to leave, Merry and Pippin came running up, "Sorry, we're late, we slept in. Why do the elves have to be so difficult as to be married at dawn?"

Pippin interrupted, excitedly "Us hobbits are ring bearers today – Frodo and Sam got their chance, now it's our turn..." he laughed and he and Merry fell into place behind Arwen, and I behind Vénea as her bridesmaid.

We moved, quicker this time, towards a glade where the babbling music of water was mingled with the sound of harp and singing, welcoming the new brides and the sun, which was just raising its head above the trees. The light glinted on hers and Arwen's dresses, on the silver bark of the trees, and on the golden hair of Legolas, who greeted his bride with a heavenly smile on his beautiful face. Beside him stood Aragorn, his ruggedly handsome face so used to sorrow and pain now wreathed in smiles as he too welcomed his long-awaited bride. Gandalf stood behind them, his white robes blinding, as he joined together the hands of the couples. I shut my eyes as I stepped back, fading out of that picture of bliss into my own dark reality, while the beautiful words of the wedding rolled over me. I opened my eyes to see the symbolic exchanging of rings, and then the kiss. I felt a stab through the heart as Legolas kissed his new wife long and lingeringly. They were now irrevocably married. I was completely alone.

We ate lunch under the spreading Mallorn tree; the two new couples at the head of the table, staring into each other's eyes – totally engrossed with each other. I stared at Legolas, unable to withdraw my gaze as he smiled and laughed and joked with Vénea, or just gazed at her, only once looking my way. I ate little, totally withdrawn form the crowd, the only dejection in such a place of joy – or not the only one; for Elrohir had also a face of sadness.

I studied the assembly intently, there were murmurs of discontent, especially amongst the followers of Thranduil; they did not approve of their prince marrying a mortal. I looked over to Vénea, worried for her safety. These Elves considered her a violation of their culture; it irked them that both the marriages of today had been mixed – between Elves and Men. They would not think twice of ridding Middle Earth of her. I would have to protect her, to withdraw attention from her to distract those murderous thoughts.

With that intention in mind, I began talking to the Elf beside me. He, witty and engrossing, soon attracted a large crowd while I held them, smiling sweetly or glancing seductively over my shoulder. The gathering broke up as lunch was cleared, and we took to milling through the forest. Some went off in groups of twos or threes but the majority stayed where they were, gathered around me. I felt an intent gaze on my back and I turned round, laughing at a joke that one of my entourage had made, it was Legolas. I began flirting with Elrohir, giggling and smiling alluringly, playing wit and desire in a dangerous combination. Oft and anon I glancing over my shoulder at the quiet charade that I was playing with my best friend's husband. I hated myself, hating the treacherous manor in which I was behaving towards her, yet too drunk on this game to stop. I felt relived and also disappointed as she touched him lightly on the arm, and led him away through the trees – she had the real hold upon him.

Time flew past in a way it rarely does for an Elf, and soon it was time for the real festivities to begin.

The table was just about set when Galadriel hurried up to me, her icy dignity scarcely hiding her anxiety. "Where is Legolas? Where is Vénea? The meal is about to start." Aragorn came up from his place by Arwen and nudging me, said. "He is probably up a tree somewhere with his new bride, ah, reinforcing their marriage vows." I would have normally laughed at this, but the events of the day were trying my patience and strength, so I just turned away. "I might as well go and interrupt their intercourse, By the way, I thought you and Arwen would have gone off long ago, you have been waiting a long time as well."

"Ahh, poor Osellë, you feel envious as you have no one to go into the bushes with. Never mind, your turn will come – I see Elrohir here, panting over his soldier to walk with you, will you oblige him?"

I shot a look of cool contempt at the salacious monarch and turned away towards the route to my favourite tree. I aimed to climb it, hoping to see from that vantage point their retreat. With that intention I clamoured up, hindered by my dress, wondering at the weird noises that were issuing from the platform. As I poked my head over the top I found my quarry in rather incriminating circumstances, yet mercifully dressed. I quickly retreated down the ladder until I could no longer see them and called up "I am sorry to interrupt your activity, but you are needed at the glade, the festivities are about to commence." I heard sounds of muffled laughter as I fell down the rest and landed in a heap at the bottom. They came down like children, drunk on love, Legolas' beautiful blond hair rather attractively ruffled and Vénea's dress worse for wear. I smiled saucily at them and began straightening Vénea's dress while thinking how easy it would be to wrap my long fingers around her slender neck. I shuddered with revulsion at my thoughts. Maybe that encounter with Sauron had corrupted me in more ways than one, or maybe this is the way that unrequited love acts on those who do not fade away and die because of it. I had better leave quickly after the revelry before I lost control.

The two of them strolled, hand in hand towards the dell, while I fumed along in their wake, a mere shadow of discontent.

My façade was intact; however when we arrived at the glade, where tables had already been laid and a huge construction, looking more than anything like the town of Minas Tirith, but brown, took pride of place. "What is that?" I said to the woods at large. I was surprised to hear an answer from the mouth of Vénea; "It is my Chocolate cake, delightfully sweet and decidedly unwholesome."

"Yes, but what is it? And what is it doing here?" I stared at the creation; it did look decidedly unwholesome but smelt gorgeous. I noticed Legolas go up, stick a finger gently in one of its massive sides and lick it "Delicious, absolutely delicious," just like you, I muttered under my breath as I followed his example. Vénea slapped me rather roughly on the hand, "Keep off, it's for after the meal. It's my wedding cake, there's a custom amongst my family to make such cakes to celebrate a wedding..." she was interrupted by the call for dinner, where we all made our way to our seats and I resumed my dazzling performance.

After dinner Vénea and Legolas cut the cake, she dolled out pieces to everyone around the table. We were about to eat when Pippin interrupted with the cry "Stop, there is something missing," and the Hobbits hurried off. Elrond smiled amusedly at Galadriel and said "come, we had better wait and see what surprise those Hobbits have for us"

They came back a few minutes later, staggering under the weight of a multitude of large stone jars. "Cider" Pippin stated, plonking one on the table in front of Elrond. "Come try it. We wanted to bring beer, but Gandalf explicitly forbade it." Elrond smilingly sampled some and soon the heavy jars were being passed around the table. It came my way and I raised the rather empty jar to my lips and swallowed a rather large amount, the burning liquor pouring down my throat, producing a rather pleasant tingling sensation. "Whew," I gasped, pouring some into my goblet and passing it on to Pippin "What is in that stuff?"

"Have you never tasted cider?" he enquired incredulously "Oh I forgot, Elves tend to avoid intoxicating liquor, I tried to offer Legolas some alcohol but he strictly declined"

The chocolate and cider were indeed a heady mix, I felt myself gradually relaxing, losing my strict control over myself, giggling and smiling more freely. Soon the tables were cleared and I felt myself being whirled around by Elrohir.

Suddenly I found myself whisked into someone else's arms. I looked up and beheld the face of Legolas, his skin flushed and eyes dancing, obviously feeling the effects of that stimulating combination of cider and chocolate. He spun me around, pressing me closer to his body. I felt so happy, so excited at the closeness of our contact. I opened my mouth, to tell him of my love, all self-control whipped from me in our ecstatic whirl, only to find myself cast back rudely into reality, the slight weight of Vénea on my back. She was pulled up giggling, whisked off by her husband into that intoxicating whirl of music and dancing, while I was left collapsed, dark and forgotten on the ground, discarded like the worn out doll that I was.

It was time for me to go, I was not wanted here by anyone but Elrohir, and I was unable to give him what he desired. I felt a dampener on such a blissful occasion; unneeded and forgotten by all, lying here worthless and overlooked.

I picked myself up and cleared the tables of leftovers to sustain me on my journey. I ran towards my chamber and pulled off my beautiful dress, stroking the gorgeous fabric. Leaving the part of me that was happiness and gaiety behind, I put on instead the sombre hues of solitude and misery.

Gathering up my pack I turned to go, the heirloom of Mirkwood still around my neck. I had received stares and whispers about it, especially from the elves of Mirkwood – wondering how I came to wear it when the heirloom belonged by rights to Vénea, the woman that had ensnared the prince. I now realised my folly, those discontent at their prince's imprudent match had seen me and realised that I loved the Prince. I was an Elf of pure blood that they would consider a much better princess; they would try to supplant Vénea and put me in her place. It was best I should go and so rid Vénea of this danger – Ilúvatur knows I do not wish harm to her.

On an impulse I took the jewel form around my neck, kissed it, my last claim on Legolas relinquished, and laid it gently on the dressing table. I took pen and ink and began writing

Vénea

Don't say that I have abandoned you, it is best for both of us that I should go. Do not try to follow me. I will not be a damper on your marriage bliss – as I would be if I remained.

I must tell you that I love your husband; I have adored him since childhood. I have had too many years of suppressing myself and I feel that I will be soon unable to control my ardour – therefore I leave and bury my love and grief in the West.

Watch those around you, especially those Elves of Thranduil's court; they do not take lightly to such a violation of their tradition.

When you need me, I will come. Call my name in your hour of need and I will be with you as soon as I can. Do not fear that I will not hear you – our fates and that of Legolas are irrecoverably entwined. I will see you again ere you die.

Do not think that I hate you because you have married him whom I love - anyone who sees him cannot but fall in love with him. I do not blame you for it, and you are still "mellon-nin".

Ná Elbereth veria le, ná elenath dín síla erin rád o chuil lín.

May Elbereth protect you, may her stars shine on the path of your life.

Osellë

I left the note on the dressing table with the necklace, and, taking my burden, made my way to the unguarded stables. I saddled a horse and rode of into the night – to carry my weary life to the Undying Lands.


	6. Flee into the Shadows

**Part Six**

**Flee into the shadows**

"How many times have I done this to myself?

How long will it take before I see?

When will this hole in my heart be mended?

Who now is left alone but me?

Everyone leaves me stranded,

Forgotten, abandoned

Left behind.

I can't stay here another night"

"**Solitude" Evanescence **

I rode wearily to the edge of the forest, swaying greatly in the saddle, the effects of the cider beginning to tell on me. I rode as far as I could, to a secluded place at the woodland rim where I knew that both the horse and I could remain unseen until morning. I dismounted and tied my horse to a tree managing to unsaddle it before my strength gave out and I collapsed to the leafy ground, wrapped in my grey cloak.

I dreamt that night: _I was again walking through Lórien, the fresh wind whipping my hair, the trees sighing in the breeze, their grey trunks decked with green. The whole place had a festival air, so different from the ominous shadows of my previous life. I was revelling with the rest of nature, feeling beautiful and young and free. I was quivering with anticipation, as if I was waiting for someone whom I very much wanted to see. I found myself again approaching my accustomed tree, the very roots sharing my delight. I had a rendezvous, a tryst, with the beautiful being whose rippling laughter echoed from his lofty perch. I flew up the rope ladder into his arms. 'What about Vénea?' I whispered, only to hear the reply "Who? She does not exist." Legolas took me into his arms, I gazed into his deep, grey eyes as his lips softly approached mine and they met in a kiss..._ I awoke with a start from the glittering summer's day in my dreams to the cold, solitary night, yet a warmth lingered here, a sense of presence that was not mine or the horse', and my lips felt warm, as if they had been but lately close to those of someone else, and a golden hair was intermingled with my raven locks.

Unwillingly I pulled myself up, my head feeling as if it had been used as an anvil by a cave troll. I shivered and sighed, wondering what on earth had got me into such an awful situation. It was not of my doing my falling in love. I began to think what would have happened if Legolas had been but a friend, or if my love for him had died once I knew that he loved Vénea. Firstly, I would not be here, cold and alone in the dark of the early morning, but in a warm bed at Lorien. I could have married Elrohir and have grown to love him, bearing and bringing up his children, instead of being in solitude, rejected by him whom I loved. No, I couldn't not love Legolas; it was as much a part of me as my beautiful but weary body and the spirit that burned within. Who could see Legolas and not adore him, who could gaze at his lithe arms and not want to be in them, who could behold his lips and not wish to kiss them, or hear his lovely voice and not wish it whispering words of love to them?

I shook myself, this is no time for delusions of Legolas, I had to leave this place and be away from prying eyes before dawn broke and the alarm was raised. I felt rather like a thief sneaking away from the scene of his crime. I stealthily saddled the horse and made my way out of the forest, galloping along the path towards the shadow of the Misty Mountains. I stared at their towering peaks, going over in my head the means to pass them. They seemed like impregnable barriers in my path, yet I knew that there were two ways through which I could travel. Tales of these mountains rose to my mind, those told by Bilbo Baggins, the hobbit that first brought to light the One Ring in the present age, and by Legolas who had travelled through the mines of Moria, where Gandalf fell. These tales had been dark and full of Orcs, yet the way over the Gap of Rohan was equally as treacherous and was far out of my way. The horse whinnied, wanting to be on the move, so I decided to let it choose for me. I sat back and gave it free reign, half expecting the beast to turn tail and head for its stables in Lórien, but instead it turned and headed towards Durin's dale and the clear depths of Mirrormere, where it stopped at the lakeside and drank. I would go this way then; I would brave the mines, and follow the route that Legolas had taken.

Dismounting, I unfastened my saddlebags and let the horse go. This was no place for an animal. I would travel much easier without such a burden, less of a target for a passing Orc or Goblin.

Thoughts of death crossed my mind as I entered the dark gateway, I would have to pass over the bridge of Khazad-dûm as the dwarves called it (Nasty, guttural language, for a short, uncultured people – although Gimli isn't that bad, probably Legolas' good influence,) and thence through the darkness of the mines, through which no light penetrates. I unslung my bow and fitted an arrow to the string, walking carefully as my keen eyes adjusted to the gloom that would be pitch-black for a man I tested the air for sign of Orc, there were none visible yet, but I could smell their foul stench, knowing that they would be near.

At last I reached the bridge, a narrow causeway of black stone, stretching endlessly and treacherously in front of me. I could see that some parts of it were broken and cracked; I would have to be careful as I crossed. I gazed ahead of me, memorising the route I would have to take and the obstacles that would hinder my passage. Then, when I had 'screwed my courage to the sticking point' I set foot on the bridge. The first bit was easy as it curved up in front of me, I made it at a light run, quickly reaching the summit and then stopping dead.

It was well that I did, for one more step would have had me plunging down into the depths, I did not wish to die because of clumsiness. Shivering with fear I drew back from the edge, forcing myself to be calm as I calculated the distance I would have to cross. I would have to be careful, especially in this light, for swaying a little to the left or right in this jump would have me plummeting down into the chasm. I again measured the gap with my eye; I should be able to jump it, just. Drawing back from the brink I ran up to the verge and then leapt, the air rushing through my hair as I willed for more height. My panic intensified as I saw the opposite edge draw towards me, and realised that I did not have enough height. I would not make it, I was going to die. Fortunately, I managed to grasp hold of the parapet and cling on, my body jarring as my fall was so halted. I managed to pull my self up on trembling arms, and I lay, my stomach resting on the smooth stone and my legs still dangling in space, thanking Ilúvatur that I had been spared.

Suddenly I felt a swoosh of air past my cheek and a thump as an arrow hit the smooth stone a few inches from my ear and bounced off to clatter down the chasm. I flinched and started back, coming to my senses and leaping to my feet as the next arrow rebounded from the stone where my head had been a few seconds before.

Fully alert now, I notched an arrow to my bowstring and sent it winging away to a ledge above my head, hearing a soft thud as my arrow hit its mark and sent the flailing Orc crashing down into the depths. I gave a quick smirk of satisfaction and reloaded my bow, darting quickly off the narrow bridge and on to the firmer ground of the mine floor. I released my shaft into the breast of another of my foul assailants. On the spur of the moment I threw back my head and sung out at the top of my melodious voice;

'A Elbereth Gilthoniel

Silivren penna míriel

o menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaered palan-díriel

o galadhremmin ennorath,

Fanuilos, le linnathon

nef aear, sí nef aearon!'

"There is an Elf here, to banish the dark and to destroy the evil. Beware, for my sword is swift and my arrows keen, and I will not rest 'till all the Orcs are banished from this place and it has been returned to the Light" I felt all my zest for life returning as a new confidence surged through me, bearing all my thoughts of death away, lifting me up to face this new test.

I almost saw the shadows part as my challenge sent a shiver of fear through the Orcs amassed on ledges in the walls high above my head. I sent another dart into their midst, scattering them. I would have no more trouble from Orcs and Goblins at least in the near future. This cave-dwelling kind was smaller and more timorous than the hideous masses of Sauron's legions; they would not now have the courage to launch an attack on me, for some time at least.

Bending down, more out of bravado, and curiosity about how they would act than anything else, I noticed weird shapes and patterns in the rock, where it had been seared and singed by an intense heat. I also saw similar marks on the pillars that supported the massive roof, some of which were sporting large cracks that seemed to be the work of fire, the shape of a huge whip. A Balrog, a spirit of fire, had passed this way, melting the rock that it crossed over with its scorching flame. I followed the tracks as they lead deeper into the mines. I arrived at a room where the tracks seemed to have ceased, moving through the doorway, the relics of a fine wooden door lying in splinters around my feet. Here were signs of battle; the ground was littered with the skeletons of Orcs. They were picked clean by their own kind and showing signs of horrific wounds that could have only been sustained by sword or arrow. Amongst the clutter of skeletons and Orc arrows lay a huge carcass that could only belong to a cave troll, it's hideous, twisted shape sprawled massively over the ground, its leathery green skin still clinging to the dark bones. I baulked at the rancid stench that issued from it. I wanted to turn and run out the door, out of the mines and into the fresh sunlight. Elves were not meant to dwell in caves but to live under the trees and in the starlight; I was no dwarf that relished this claustrophobia.

I was about to leave when I noticed the fletching of an arrow sticking proudly out of its loathsome eye socket. My eye caught the green and gold feathers and recognized it as Legolas'. So he had fought here, he had killed a cave troll, and left his shaft, too much in a haste to collect it. Looking around I noticed other, similar arrows, bristling out of the corpses of the Orcs, along with the red and gold fletched arrows of Aragorn. I blessed their oversight. Between them, they had saved me. I was running low on shafts and here they were aplenty, I only had to wrench them from their grisly quivers.

I set to work, knotting a cloth round my mouth and nose so I could bear the foul stench. Kicking aside corpses and rummaging through piles of bones I gathered arrows like firewood, tossing them in the quiver slung at my back until it was full. Gagging, I quickly left the room, stepping over the disturbed remains to the door at the other side. I put my hand on the huge knocker and wrenched it open, blinded by the stream of light that issued from the opening. Blinking in the unaccustomed dazzle I entered the room, shutting the door behind me. I flung myself down on the ground, only to jump up again as something sharp pricked into my side. Was I doomed never to rest here?

I reached down to remove the object that had hurt me. About to toss it away, I noticed the glimmer of gold; it was not a stone then, but something valuable. I brought it closer to my tired eyes and studied it closely. I gasped as I recognised it; it was the green leaf of Legolas, his birth brooch. I had always seen him wearing ever since I first knew him, and I had noticed its absence though I didn't like to say. I fell back, overwhelmed by the tide of love and desire that overtook me. I could almost feel the touch of his cool lips on my forehead, on my mouth. He had kissed me there once, when I had so foolishly broken the contact I so needed by reminding him of Vénea. In memory of it I raised the brooch to my lips and kissed it, only to feel it fused to me, borne by it into a swirling vortex through which came voices, echoes from far away_. I recognised Vénea's soft tones, choked by tears, then his voice, calm and reassuring; then sad, despairing. I heard my name "Osellë, yes I loved her, but she was too cold, too distant, I despaired of ever being worthy of her; not thinking that she herself was yearning after me... When I realised it was too late, I had already fallen for you – you returned my feelings and were so vulnerable, gentle, human, while she as beautiful and remote as a star..." _

Reeling, clawing for breath, I at last managed to pull the broach from me, to scatter the vision that had overwhelmed me, collapsing, utterly spent, against the cool marble block behind me.

I did not know how long I stayed there, but when I finally came to, the light of Eärendil, Gil-estel, replaced the shaft of sunlight. I blessed Elbereth, Queen of Stars; she had heard my song and had sent the Great Mariner, the star of hope, to watch over me. She had protected me from Orkish blades while I slept, proving even more that it was not my part to die just yet. The Valar had a destiny for me yet to play out, although I did not know whether it was one of good or evil.

I fingered the brooch still clasped in my cold hands. I had been right when I said that our destinies were intertwined. This was proof of the tenacious link between Legolas, Vénea and I. Through this symbol I could see what Legolas saw and hear what he heard; the ultimate link with the one that I loved. Yet I would have to be sparing in my use, I was so physically drained by my brief vision, that I had slept thus in such a dangerous place.

I stood up, my head spinning, as the cave troll resumed its tattoo in my skull. My mouth was dry, my tongue cleaving to the roof of my mouth. I had not eaten or drunk since the early hours of the morning, whether today or yesterday I did not know. I opened my pack and pulled out my water bottle and a piece of lembas. I ate a piece of lembas, then, uncorking the flask, I raised it to my lips, but instead of the cool, sweet water that I expected, the burning fire of the Hobbit's Cider seared down my throat. I gasped, retching. How foolish was I? How stupid that I had forgotten such basic training, the words of my father echoed in my head_; "Osellë, yende-nin, always bring water when you travel, it is the basis of life, even an Elvish one" _

"_I am sorry, my father, I forgot, I left too much in haste, too grief stricken to care about such things" _Was I losing my mind? I was delusional, for I saw my father, Eldarestalo, standing in front of me, his brow furrowed with concern after I had come back in the middle of the night. I had come back dirty, tired and dehydrated, after a day spent adventuring with Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir. I remember my annoyance at being so scolded, I had brought water with me but Elrohir had nicked it. I was just about to answer back to my father; a deed frowned upon by Elven parents, when my mother, Alcie, ran up, burying my complaint in her breast.

I sighed, overwhelmed with the weight of memories, and with a great longing for the idyllic days of the past. Yet now I was fit, the lembas had given me the energy I needed to go on, I would not test the benevolence of Elbereth, by remaining undefended in this place. I stood up, stiffly, aching in every limb from my long sitting. I rested my pack on the block of marble that I had leant my back against, only to snatch it up swiftly and fall to my knees in shock. I had slept leaning against a tomb! Plucking up courage I read the rude Dwarvish script.

"BALIN, SON OF FUNDIN

LORD OF MORIA"

Gimli would be pleased; I had slept, leaning on the grave of his kinsman!

I must leave this mine soon; it was surely disturbing my mind. I had always looked where I slept before this, and I never used to have dreams or visions. If this is what unrequited love does to you, then I want out of it; but sadly that is impossible.

I spent the rest of the night revelling in the sweet music of the stars, seizing this comfort eagerly – before things became so desperate that even they couldn't console me. It was strange that now when times were the worst, when I was far removed from the gaze of the one I loved, and stuck in such a hostile place, I was at peace enough to appreciate their song.

I was up with the single shaft of sun that was all that relieved the heavy darkness of this place. I was so eager to be out, yet I had a commission, a promise to fulfil; to rid the mines of Orcs and to bring it back to the light. No matter that it was self-appointed, I had the honour of and Elf to sustain, and a vow once made cannot be unmade. So, after eating, I fitted an arrow to my bowstring and issued out of the radiance of the room to the blackness of the Mines.

There I spent many months in my wandering, months full of the pleasure of the chase and the kill, months where my bow sung form dawn to dusk; creating music that was the funeral march of my twisted foe. I relished this life, one of action and purpose, although bloody beyond reckoning. For not a day passed that I did not send a pile of burning corpses reeking to whence the spirits of such loathsome creatures go. Yet my work was not just that of killing, I also sought to rectify the damage that the Orcs had wreaked on a once fair place. I unblocked shafts, letting the pure light that for years had been fouled and filtered by a congealed mass of cobwebs, dirt and corpses of birds, banish the shadows. I dusted old manuscripts and rewrote those too rat eaten and faded to be legible to any but Elvish eyes, filling up pages and pages with my fair hand, binding them with my hair. I found fish and water in an underground stream, unpolluted by Orc filth, so I lived well enough. Finding flint and tinder, I burnt all the bodies, turning bleached bones to ash, the smoke banishing the Orcs deeper and deeper into the mines, from which I ferreted them out, no place to dark or dangerous for me. My life seemed indeed charmed as I sacked their strongholds, freeing Dwarves that had long rotted in their captivity, sending them, mortified at having their lives in the debt of an Elf, to Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, where Thorin Stonehelm ruled as King under the Mountain, successor of Dáin Ironfoot who was killed in the War of the Ring.

One day, about a year from my arriving in this place, having just relinquished the bow for the pen and settling comfortably down to my task in the records room, I was startled by the sound of hammering that seemed to issue from outside the mountain. I followed the noise to the front door of the mine. As far as I could hear from the loud banging and vociferous curses that were audible through such a thickness of stone, someone wished to enter but was unable. Placing my eye to a peek hole in the door I looked out, but saw nothing. It was only when I peered down as low as I could that I spied the tops of dwarvish helmets, moving in some agitation, while ever and anon the mountain was shaken to its roots by the huge mallet that bounded fruitlessly of the stone.

I could not suppress a laugh at their vain efforts as I shouted out, tauntingly, through the chink "Stop your noise, Dwarves, it is enough to awaken Durin's bane and Balin all in one – do you not know the secret of your own door?" I laughed again as the infernal racket ceased.

"Now, I can hear myself think, what does the motto on the door say?" I heard a low grumbling from the other side of the door, but was unable to make out the words "Speak up, you are so low on the ground that I am unable to hear you"

After much grunting and scrambling, I at last caught a growl that was at least recognisable as words, "Let us in you infernal Elf, or we will break down the door!"

"I doubt that" I taunted, "Your paltry efforts have not even dented it" The banging again resumed, but it soon ceased as they could see, as well as I, that their efforts were fruitless, instead replaced by a gruff voice that was doing its best to remain civil "It says in your overblown tongue 'pedo mellon a minno,' now let us in!"

"Why, you already have it, it's a riddle, 'Speak, friend, and enter, quite simple really."

I heard more grumbling as they deliberated over it, taking so long that I was about to tell them the answer, when one of them spoke up "Mellon"

Suddenly the doors folded away from me and I was confronted with an army of undersized warriors, all fuming at their embarrassing arrival. With effort I managed to control my mirth and address the leader, an elderly, white haired dwarf clad in a mithril shirt, with some attempt at courtesy, "Do come in, small warriors, I have been doing some spring cleaning for you. You will find the place rather well lit and relatively Orc free, although the living accommodation is poor, I have had to share a chamber with your dear friend Balin"

I watched, amused, as the bearded face of the diminutive creature in front of me grew redder and redder, in strange contrast with his rather grubby white hair. Holding my sides as I tried to control my hilarity, endeavouring to keep a straight face as the dwarf bawled. "How dare you insult my cousin like that you, Elf! I have a mind to have you killed on the spot!"

This time I couldn't control my merriment, so laughing rather rudely in his face, I endeavoured to placate the irate dwarf, "So, you must be Glóin, son of Gróin, and father of Gimli who is surnamed Elf Friend. I am Osellë, daughter of Eldarestalo, of Rivendell."

"Elf Friend! Elf Friend! What on earth has that idiotic dolt that I had the grave misfortune to sire, done now that he should be called Elf Friend? I told him not to mix with elves, especially that damned elf prince, Legowhateverhisnamewas, whose blasted father imprisoned me and thirteen companions in that hellish hole of Mirkwood, only rescued by our friend Bilbo the hobbit; who decided to half kill us by barrels instead. When I get my hands on my son..."

I drew myself to my full height, towering over them, with the utmost hauteur. "I will have you know that Legolas, son of King Thranduil, is a dear friend of mine," And I love with all my heart, "I will not have him insulted, I would see you dead first! Moreover your son Gimli is not a foolish good for nothing; he had a great part in the overthrowing of Lord Sauron and in the binding of the Fellowship. Remember, it is unwise to offend an Elf" I stared arrogantly at him as he quailed somewhat under my fierce gaze although he tried his best to hide it. He grumbled rather ungraciously "I apologise, I didn't know Elves were so touchy. We came here to thank you for your work, not offend you."

I saw the supreme effort those words of forgiveness cost the aged dwarf and my heart melted. Reaching out my hand I said "I too apologise for my discourtesy, Glóin, Gróin's son, it has been a long time since I have spoken to anyone, or found humour in anything. Come, take my hand and let us be friends"

My words seemed to break the tension, the anger dissipating gradually as Glóin, after some hesitation, took my hand and shook it firmly. Soon everyone was talking and laughing at once, the sea of dwarves lapping around my waist, each shaking vigorously my hands or what ever part of me they could most easily reach, loudly congratulating me as I hurried backwards up the stairs into the mines.

I did not stay long in the company of the dwarves; their coming had brought longing for other, more congenial companionship. I had spent a year in silence, mourning for my lost love and felt I needed to come out of my sadness, to reconcile myself to my mistakes. I craved music, open spaces and the joy of freedom more than anything now – to get a last taste of this world before I left it forever...

So with this resolution, I bid goodbye to Balin's tomb, which had sheltered and supported me for so many nights; gave my regards to Glóin, asking him to remember me to his son, as a sure way of giving news to Legolas, and left through the front gate, towards Rivendell.

Outside the main entrance of the mine, lay a dark, polluted pool, in whose murky depths lurked a creature more evil than the Balrog. Moving carefully along the side of the pool, I saw its many tentacles waving in the centre of the lake as I edged past. I thought that I had passed the pool safely and was about to relax my caution, when I felt something wet, slimy, and immensely strong wrap crushingly around my leg. I tried to shake it off, but to no avail, as it lifted me swiftly up, until I found myself hanging upside-down, with the dark waters moving steadily towards me. I screamed;

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel

o menel palan-díriel,

le nallon sí di-nguruthos.

A tiro nin, Fanuilos"

Suddenly the foul creature let go its hold and I found myself falling, falling into the foul mere. I landed with a splash, and swam quickly out. Crawling breathless out of the water, I dashed away from the bank, seizing my pack, and my bow, which luckily had fallen of my back and escaped wetting. Soaking wet and shivering, I hurried on my way, not wanting to stop until I had left that dark place behind.

I passed through a sinister thicket of tall trees, littered with Orc tracks and that of Wargs. This was indeed a fell place; I would have to be far from here before nightfall if I wished to keep my shuddering skin whole. Not far ahead of me a wolf howled, then another, a wild, ominous sound that froze the blood in my veins, yet I hastened on, brushing away branches and thorns that threatened to ensnare me as prey for the Wargs. Suddenly I froze, the howls were coming nearer, and I could hear the swift, fierce tread of the advancing beast. It drew nearer, baying for my blood, its slavering jaws and fierce teeth advancing towards me. Suddenly it gathered itself up and made to bound upon me, its raking claws and vicious teeth clearly visible as it prepared to attack. I felt it's hot, stinking breath in my face, its sharp claws raking my shoulder; the long fangs ready to close around my slender neck. "This is it" I whispered, as I felt the teeth reach for my throat...

Suddenly the beast loosened its grip and fell back, my dagger through its breast.

I collapsed on top of the foul corpse, still writing in its death throes. With difficulty I managed to struggle free, my head spinning from the stench of blood, it's and mine. I raised my head and found myself staring straight into malevolent yellow eyes of another of those vile beasts. I stared back at it; fighting my weakness, forcing myself to put command and defiance in my voice as I said, "Go back to the stinking hell hole from which you came. You see what I did to your leader; I could decimate your whole number with one arrow. Now go, before I kill you!"

To my surprise it turned tail and fled, the pack following in its mad retreat, merging silently into the shadows. I struggled, painfully, to my feet, blood pouring from my chest and neck. I staggered, but righting myself, suppressing the pain and forcing my head to remain clear. With difficulty I broke into a slow shambling run, my burning eyes fixed on the narrow, winding path, half obscured by the overhanging trees and undergrowth. I fell, and righting myself, I continued on, while all my limbs screamed at me to stop, to collapse.

I cannot remember how I managed to leave that ominous forest, or make my way through the barren landscape of scrubby hills. I knew that Rivendell and safety was near, that was the only thing that kept me struggling on, preventing me from falling down to die. Just I was about to give up the struggle and resign myself to death I saw ahead of me the gates of Imaldris, rising from the dell in which it lay. Hope surged in my breast and I bounded forward, fuelled by strength of will that I was not aware I possessed. At last I could go no further and I collapsed outside the gateway, laughing weakly. I had collapsed senseless at someone's gates so many times it was almost an accomplished art.

I had a dim recollection of the gates being opened and someone screaming, then of being picked up by strong arms and carried inside before sinking gratefully into the gentle embrace of forgetfulness.

The feeling of déjà-vu came strongly upon me as I again woke in an unfamiliar bed with someone bending over me, but this time, the head was not golden, but as dark as mine.

"Where am I?" I asked absentmindedly, knowing full well the answer.

"You are safe, O Osellë Atanvarne. We found you, half dead and bleeding profusely, but I trust you will recover without too much discomfort." Elrond's voice was soft as he gently pushed an annoying strand of hair from my eyes.

My scream belied his gentle words as I endeavoured to sit up, but pain, like a cruel knife twisting in my lacerated flesh, sent me collapsing onto the bed. Pushing down the agony and trying to collect my wandering thoughts I knitted up my brow and said "But why do you give me a title that isn't my own, I am plain Osellë, I was never Atanvarne – what man have I ever defended?"

He smiled gently, reminding me so much of my father that I almost called him such, "You are Atanvarne because you are a defender of Men. You have been a vital part in the winning of this War of The Ring. You have championed a poor woman, saving her from certain death, and most of all, you have sacrificed yourself and your love for a friend, when you could have usurped her at any time – Ilúvatur knows you have charms enough to bewitch the Valar themselves, only look at the destruction you have wreaked on my son!"

"Well, I don't feel very charming at the moment. What man would look at me twice with this horrible bandage around my neck, probably hiding something even more dreadful – I shall be scarred for life?" He laughed at this, a soft, merry laugh that sent me giggling feebly, although I soon stopped, the agony in my chest soon put paid to any chance of humour. I groaned again, crumpling like a puppet with the strings cut, as a heady drink was poured down my mouth. I sank into torpor, pain and mind dulled by that potent brew.

Slowly, I emerged from inertia, dreaming fitfully through the night, Legolas the centre of my nightly wanderings. I dreamt that he was lying over me, his arms around me, my body moulded against his. He kissed me gently on the lips and I responded, love and desire welling through me, bearing me away... His hands moved to the bottom of my nightdress, his mouth pressed harder upon mine. There was something strange about the touch of his hands, his mouth seemed different somehow than when it had last touched my lips. I realised suddenly that I was not dreaming, that my bedfellow was real, those hands on my leg were not a figment of my imagination! I opened my eyes and screamed. It was not Legolas whose arms I lay in, but Elrohir's!

I summoned all my available strength to push him off, sending him landing on the floor with a bump. Pain shot through me at this unwonted effort but I shut my mouth on the cry that welled up inside me, compressing my lips tightly. I glowered at him as he struggled bemusedly from the floor; if looks could kill, he would have never risen from the ground. He started to stammer out an apology, but I cut him short with a look that made him writhe with embarrassment, if he wished that the earth would open and swallow him.

"What are you doing here? Why have you taken such advantage of me? Do you wish to rape me, to sleep with me and so bind me forever to you? Do you wish to kill me? I questioned sternly, my intense fury giving me strength, overcoming my agony.

He moved towards the side of the bed and reached out to touch my shoulder, but I shoved him away. I felt only absolute revulsion at the thought of him laying even a finger on me; his presence in the room sickened me. He could sense my abhorrence, and this angered him, he cut off another faltering excuse, and instead advanced towards the bed, drawing himself to his full height and staring down at me "Osellë Atanvarne. Do not reproach me with an act that is purely your doing. I admit that I took advantage of your situation but you are so damned beautiful, I can't get you out of my head. You torment me constantly; I cannot get your face, your voice away from my mind. Waking or sleeping your image persecutes me – do you not think that I am faultless, or my father?" He demanded his voice rising as his ire grew. He positively quivered with desire as he towered over me. I felt terrified despite myself but I endeavoured to control my fear, staring unwaveringly back into his passionate eyes. We seemed to stare at each other for ages, out gazes locked, out of space and time, the only issue his love and my refusal. He turned away first and hid his embarrassment in bravado "You responded to me – I found that the cold statue was not stone but flesh and blood, no wonder my desire grew when you fed the flame."

"Sedho, Silence!" I shouted, my fiery rage taking control of me, "How dare you say that I responded to you! I responded to my dream, the figure of Legolas that my delusional mind inspired, not to you. You took advantage of my weakness to force yourself upon me. I said I was delusional. No it is you that are delusional, to think that I could possibly consent to lying with you, someone who I considered only as my brother." I paused, gasping for breath, and continued, my voice quivering with anger." I have nothing against you loving me, I know that it is beyond your power to cease this infatuation, but it does not mean that you should impose yourself upon me!" I drew breath, lowering my tone as I repented the rashness of my words, it would not do to insult the son of my host and my childhood friend. "For both our sakes you had better leave. Go now, and I will quit this place as soon as I am well and withdraw my tormenting influence from your sight." He stared angrily at me for a moment, as if he had not heard my last words and was still stunned by the fire of my outburst. He breathed deeply like a swimmer coming up for air, letting all the rage fade from his deep brown eyes, to be replaced by a great sadness that affected me more than all his loud expletives did. I sighed bitterly and turned my face to the wall, I did not wish to see the raw pain in his eyes, I hated myself for what I had done and what I would have to do to him, yet there was no avoiding it. "Mellon-nin, my friend, you had better leave me. I do not wish to cause you pain, but I cannot love you."

"Nan, le melon, but I love you" he interrupted, his voice whimpering, pleading like a child, all the fight gone out of him, reducing him to begging for my love. I couldn't answer him, the lump constricting my throat preventing my speech. Instead I shot him a glance of sympathy and understanding, but he did not see it, burying his face into the soft quilts of the bed, his shoulders shaking, wracked with sobs. It grieved me to see such a proud and handsome warrior reduced to tears, especially as I had been the cause of his affliction. It increased my self-loathing to know that I could be capable at doing that to someone; but it also tickled my vanity that he could be so distraught at my refusing him.

At last he gained control of himself and stood up, the tear streaks on his pale face adding an element of ludicrousness to his demeanour, which jarred sharply with the resolve in his fierce eyes. "Forgive me for my outburst; I do not know what came over me. It looks like we are both doomed to strive for the unattainable," he smiled bitterly "At least we have something in common." He turned to go, but paused at the threshold, rushing up and implanting a burning kiss on my stunned lips, "Namárië, meleth nin." Farewell, my love.

"Namárië," I sighed, as he left, shutting the door gently. An immense sadness crushed me to the bed. I felt that I would not see him again, if not never, than at least for a long time. I hoped that he had strength enough to prevent his grief from overwhelming him, that my refusal would not drive him to insanity or even suicide, for I knew the intensity of his character. I would not forgive myself if he became ill or died because of me.

I had sent him away, I was now loveless; totally without friends or other ties – no one now cared for me. I craved affection. I longed to feel the warmth of arms around me and soft words of encouragement and love. "Legolas, Oh Legolas, where are you? Come to me, I need you I need your love!" I cried into the dark, listening vainly for an answer but knowing that none would come. There would be no love for me now, I had banished the one person that had offered me it and I was now lying on the bed that I had made.

The bed I lay on was comfortable; the pillows were thick and the mattress soft – yet it could as well have been made of thorns for the rest I gained from it. I tossed and turned feverishly, longing to be out in the cool night air, yet the agony in my chest prevented me from freeing myself from the tangle of sheets.

I must have fallen into some sort of fever or delirium, for my memory of the next few days was one of disjointed images and burning pain. Oft and anon I could hear the anxious tones of Elrond – seeming a guiding, guarding presence, yet even he appeared to be mystified by my illness. I wanted to cry out that I was well, but I couldn't open my mouth, my limbs flaccid, I had no control of them. I was trapped in my own dark world, full of fear – a constant agony with no release, the dim, concerned faces a world away, gazing down at me while I was falling, falling...

One day I woke, cool and calm, almost free from pain, yet with a burning desire to quit this place that was too much a part of my old life, my happy childhood. It bore so many memories, bittersweet memories that had no place in my new, dark, solitary existence – only increasing my anguish.

With this intention I rose, standing properly for the first time in, I didn't know how long. I immediately sat down, weak and dizzy from the unaccustomed effort. I shouldn't be like this, unable to even stand on my own two feet, I was frustrated at my own frailty, determined to overcome this feebleness. I had no gentle, restraining hand to push me back onto the bed, to sooth my impatience with kisses – Legolas was Vénea's now, he would never kiss me again.

But, she was mortal; she would die sooner or later, and then... No! I couldn't think of such a thing, she was my friend, I wished her every happiness in her marriage, and yet...

I stood up again, fuelled by self-loathing at my hateful thoughts; the sooner I buried myself the better – I loved, nay adored, a married man. I was sinning against my friend and the Valar themselves.

It took a matter of minutes to pack my few possessions; I would make another escape in darkness. I was always fleeing. I wished that I could find somewhere to rest, but there would be not rest for me while I was trapped by unrequited love. But I would never be free of it for I did not want to be, the illness had consumed me totally and I knew no cure...

I shook my head to banish the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me – this was no time for thoughts, but action. Tentatively, I placed my hand on the door handle, glinting silver in the moonlight. I pushed it gently open – just enough to slip through, before I shut it behind me.

I stared down the long, low corridor; moonlight casting weird shadows on the panelled floor, soft pools of ethereal light dappling the boards. I slipped quietly along, as only an Elf can. The main door at the end of the corridor loomed out of the pale light, I was not far from freedom, I could almost reach the richly carved handle. I placed my hand on it, feeling the cool metal, then froze, petrified by an untoward sound that reached my ears. I felt a soft touch on my shoulder and spun wildly around, dropping my bundle in my confusion.

"Osellë, Osellë, why are you running?" I heard the soft, mocking tones of Elrond, his deep eyes glittering in the starlight as he laughed again.

I stammered, greatly perplexed, "What are you doing here? How did you know? Let me go." He held his slender hands up, taking a step backwards, a sardonic smile playing across his thin lips. "I will not prevent you going if you feel that is what you must do. I knew that you would leave as soon as you were well. You cannot rest, can you?"

"No I cannot" I replied, "It is best that I should go. I am too much out of place here, my time for dwelling here is past; it brings back to many painful memories of a halcyon time that will never be repeated."

"And you are painful for others as well," he laughed, obviously in a high humour, although his mirth had an element of sarcasm in it. "The state you have reduced my poor son to, he hardly eats or sleeps," The mockery was replaced by fatherly concern. "He just sits and sighs, whispering your name to the stars. You are destroying yourself, and, I fear, him too." His words were too much for me, full of the stark reflections that had been haunting me throughout my illness, causing me to break down in to uncontrolled sobs. He hugged me, resting my head on his shoulder as he gently stroked my hair, whispering words of comfort like a father. At last I regained control of myself and entreated through my sobbing, "Please, that is why I must go. I am fully aware that I am destroying him and myself, yet what else can I do but leave. I cannot stay, I cannot be his wife. I would quite willingly sacrifice myself for him; I love him as a brother. Yet I cannot give him the wifely love that he wants and deserves. I could give him my body, but I can never give him my heart, for that is another's. He knows this, and even if I never saw my Prince again, our union would be marred by jealousy, the knowledge that he can never fully possess me, heart and soul, would drive him mad."

He let go, and picking my bundle from the floor, pushed it into my hands. "I see now, you must go" he said, "You know my poor son better than I do. Hopefully, he will be cured by absence, for males are less constant and obstinate in love than women are, Man as well as Elf. He is naturally high spirited and carefree, he will recover. I just hope that his love is less tenacious than yours. Go, here is food, there is a horse tethered outside, take it. Namárië, yende- nin, belain na le" Farewell, my daughter, The Valar be with you. He opened the door and pushed me out, waving as I mounted the horse and galloped off into the night.

I wandered long, through the Shire, land of Halflings, along the Elven roads that criss-crossed these parts, the roads leading to Mithlond – the Grey Havens, where the white ships sailed from, to the Undying Lands. That long journey took me months to complete, my progress slow because of the wounds on my chest, which were still causing pain. I met Hobbits – I spent a merry few days in the company of Merry and Pippin, both obviously doing well, having gained the respect of the community. They asked eagerly for news of the Elves and King Elessar (as Aragorn was now called) but I told them that I had not seen him for many, many months, having left him before they did. They in turn told me of Frodo, who had just left for the Undying Lands, unable to find peace after his ordeal of the Ring, and of Samwise Gamgee, who was married with a beautiful daughter. I wished to pay him a visit, but what was not sure that his wife would welcome an Elf, especially such a miserable one. Unwillingly I left them and continued on, falling in with parties of Elves that were heading the same way as I.

All too soon the end of my journey was nigh. I had reached The Grey Havens, the place of Cirdan the Shipwright, where I would take ship into the west.

The waters of the River Lune crept slowly beside me, emptying in the immense, brown expanse of the Gulf of Lune, a huge estuary that in turn lost itself in the Sea. I felt crushed by the vastness of grey sky that stretched above and around me, unbroken by trees or hills. The land was flat, bleak and unsheltered, merging into the turbid waters, its surface ruffled by hidden currents, dark depths and dangers concealed beneath its brim and tug. Behind me lay mountains, forests; the bustling harbour decked with white ships, while before me, emptiness – and beyond that a release.

I could just make out on the horizon the deeper, blue-green depths on the sea – shrouded by mist, and I imagined being adrift on its waves, caught up in its expanse, while the small swan-sailed boat skimmed over the surging waves.

The Sea, the Sea, it calls to me

Calling to me to leave my home.

To flee from pain, from grief to go,

And over the flying spray to roam

Eternal rest I long to know.

To bury my love in the West

Where days are warm and no leaves fall,

And over the flying spray to roam

O Namárië, Farewell this land.

Farewell my grief and all my love.

My Elven Prince is married now

And over the flying spray I roam.

The Sea calls me, yet I am torn,

I hear his voice in sighing wind,

He wants me back, yet I must go

And over the flying spray to roam.

The words surged up from my depths – voicing imperfectly the intensity of my misery. I had not realised that I had sung aloud what was in my mind, until I heard the last, clear note carried away by the wind. I turned away on the water and walked slowly towards the bustling harbour that lay on my left. Here the air rang with the ringing of hammers from the ship-yards, the surge and slap of the water on the ships, the babble of voices, and above all the haunting cry of the seagull, behind all, the dark forest, reaching almost to the waters edge, tall trees shading the Lune's low banks.

"Lady Osellë, is that you" I looked round, startled to hear my name. I noticed a vaguely familiar face – male and Elvish, amicable and good-natured, with a merry twinkle in small grey eyes.

"Hello," I said uncertainly, and then recognition dawned. "O, Erestor, I didn't expect to see you here." I remembered him dimly as an Elf of Rivendell, not exactly a servant, but rather a trusted companion of Elrond.

"All the Elves are leaving now – so I decided to go too. Lord Elrond told me to wait to see that you arrived safely." was his reply. I nodded, wearily.

"Well, I am here now. I am sorry about the length of my journey, but I am still suffering a little from injury."

"I heard you singing, it was beautiful, milady. I've saved a place on the ship, so we can leave immediately."

I nodded my assent and suffered myself to be led towards the harbour, too weary to care. I felt myself immersed in the noise and bustle of the place, borne towards the ship in the surge of pressing bodies, an Elf in a sea of pointed ears. I waited, dull and passive, as Erestor helped me across the gangplank and up to the ship. I watched without interest as the sailors prepared the ship for departure, too absorbed in my own reveries to notice those that tried to speak to me.

Here was I, at the place that all Elves longed for, about to return from exile, yet as I gazed over the harbour, a wave of misery and regret tugged at my heart for the land I would forever leave. As the wind changed, the sailors **cast off**; the ship was quickly carried away from land. Suddenly, I heard a voice call to me in the breeze, from the slowly retreating land. "_Osellë, Osellë_," it seemed to say, "_Don't go, don't leave me. You can't go yet. I still need you Osellë_" I realised with a start the voice was that Legolas'. I couldn't leave Middle-Earth, I couldn't leave him. Without thinking, I dashed to the side of the ship and dived into the icy waves.

I plunged down through dark water, panic rising through me as the water froze my bones. I struggled to the surface, gasping for breath, only to find myself pulled under by fierce currents. I thrashed my arms, managing to surface, and then trod water, trying to keep myself afloat. Fear wrapped its icy fingers round my heart as I realised how far from land I was. I was drifting further away carried by wind and tide – soon I would be in open sea. I forced my head above water, and taking a deep breath, struck out for land, trying to block out the coldness of the water, my distance from land, my quickly waning strength; trying to concentrate only on kicking my legs, putting one arm in front of the other. I ploughed forward against the tide, as a fierce, crippling pain shot down my side. My tired limbs seized up, my last reserves of strength gave out. I pressed forward, trying to summon a final thrust of effort – but none came. I shut my eyes, "Legolas, my love for you has finally killed me." I sighed, before I felt myself sinking under and the waters closed above my head.

Suddenly, strong arms seized my hair, yanking me up from death's embrace, throwing me, limp as a drowned rat, on to solid wood. I crouched on all fours, vomiting water, gasping for breath, as rough hands thumped me on the back, and gentler ones laid me down.

I came to the babble of voices above my head. They spoke a strange, rough dialect that was different from the Quenya or Sindrahin that I had been used to, but they were obviously discussing me. I forced open heavy lids and found myself gazing into a pair of anxious but rather dim brown eyes, belonging to a square, brown, weather-beaten but obviously Elvish face, that wore – horror of horrors, a beard! I screamed and fainted at the sight.

I came to at last, finding myself, thankfully, on dry land. I struggled to my feet, towering over my rescuers. "Hannon le, herdir," he looked at me strangely, scratching his sandy head in a troubled manner. "Thanks for saving my life," I repeated in the common tongue, and he looked relieved,

"So, milady, you are not of these parts then," he growled thickly. I shook my head, shivering in my soaking wet clothes. From behind me a little voice piped up in a rather broken version of the Common tongue. "Look, the Lady is wet through, we'd better take her back to mother, hadn't we" I looked around and saw a rather young Elf-maid, hardly more than fifty, blonde and quite pretty. She came up and took my arm, smiling childishly, and said in hesitant Sindrahin. "Galadh eneth nîn, man eneth lín?"

I smiled at her, replying, "I am Osellë, daughter of Eldarestalo, surnamed Atanvarne. I came with the intention to go across the sea, but as you can see, I failed miserably."

The father turned to me and made a clumsy bow "I am Sardo, of the Falathrim. You are Noldor, of the high kindred are you not?" I then realised why their accents were so strange, why they spoke a different dialect, or even language. I, a Noldo of the High Kindred, had fallen in with the Teleri, those who were under the rule of Círdan the shipwright and who were of a lower caste than I. Yet I decided to pay little attention to class, after all, Legolas was of the Sindrahin, lower than I, despite being a Prince, yet I had fallen in love with him.

The young girl looked at me, and then taking me by the arm, she tugged it gently and I followed her, submissively, I was too cold and tired to care. She prattled beside me in Westron and broken Sindrahin, taking to me in my bedraggled and miserable state, just as a child will take in and nurse a sick animal or bird. She led me to a small cottage on the edge of the beach, which looked more like a dwelling of Hobbits than of Elves. I had been used to lofty halls, so the house was a bit of a shock to me. I had to duck as I entered the door, noticing that my host, Sardo, had no such inconvenience. Luckily the ceiling inside was slightly higher, so that I didn't hit my head. The dwelling was comfortably furnished, hung with tapestries and relics of the sea, and as I entered, I saw a motherly Elf sitting under a window busy at the loom. She stood up, gazing questioningly at her husband, who said a few words in his odd dialect. The woman made a quick curtsey, and, formalities over she stepped up to me, starting to fuss over me like a hen over her chick, "Come milady, you're soaked, let me get you some dry clothes, you'll catch your death. My name is Nanethiel. Galadh, get some clothes out the chest, no over there. Sorry milady, they'll be a trifle short, you are much taller than all of us..." She continued this bustling, busy chatter, while she moved around, handing me clothes, showing me where to dress, and hanging out my wet things, finding me a bed and preparing me a meal. She seemed to take it for granted that I would stay, and I didn't like to refuse for fear of offending her. "Have you got any more clothes other than these?" She asked, while setting a meal in front of me.

"Rhaich!" I exclaimed. Everyone looked appalled at my outburst. I blushed slightly, remembering my dignity. "I apologise for my language" I continued, "But I have left my bundle on the beach, I lost it when I jumped ship, it is very important to me." The mother smiled, and turning to her daughter said "Run now to the beach and fetch this lady's bundle, it should be washed up on the shore." Galadh immediately ran off, and when she came back, I was already asleep.

Seven years I stayed in that little hamlet amongst those simple folk. I felt that this was the respite I needed, with a close, friendly community, whom I grew to love for their straightforward ways and easy kindness. I found a vocation, teaching children the tongues of the High Elves, singing and making music, helping with the looms and bringing to them knowledge of the world outside. Galadh became a dear friend of mine. I lavished on her all my knowledge, her sisterly affection going in some way to fill the void inside me.

I couldn't leave the Havens. Every ship seemed to call me onboard, to taunt me with peace across the Sea. There was a peace, an end of love, of the canker gnawing at my heart. I couldn't leave the hope of escape, yet I couldn't seize it. I couldn't leave the land where Legolas still lived – while he still walked Middle Earth I was doomed to linger on.

But with the spring of the seventh year the pull of the Sea weakened, bringing restlessness. I longed to be away, to seek excitement in another place.

I paced the foreshore, trying to conquer its pull by filling my mind with the bleak, brown boiling waters of the Lune, of the desolateness of the waterfront compared to the forests and mountains behind me. The wind whipped my hair, bearing still the lingering chill of winter. I wrapped my cloak around me, trying to block out the chill, and as I did I caught sight of its fastening, the brooch, Legolas birthstone. On an impulse, I unclasped it and raised it to my lips, to be dragged into the swirling vortex, my contact with my love. Again, as long before, I heard voices – his voice, and then that of Vénea, coming to me over a great distance, so that I had to listen hard to catch them. _"My love, my husband, I have important news to tell you. I am pregnant with your child!"_ The force of these words threw me backwards, the brooch flying form my lips to clatter to the ground. Vénea was with child! I couldn't believe it, yet it must be true. Suddenly it came to me. This was the reason for my restlessness; this was my excuse for leaving. I had to go to her, to be with her in her pregnancy, I was after all her friend.

Soon I had sadly bidden goodbye to my dear friends, exchanging tears and necklaces with Galadh, and promising to see her again. After a few days I had saddled the brave horse that had borne me here from Rivendell, and set off, back to my love and his expectant wife.

On the second day of my travels, early in the morning, as I was trotting slowly through woodland along the Elven path that led to the Shire, I heard the sound of hooves ringing against the path, moving at a gallop towards me. I reigned in my horse, and moving off the path, I waited for the rider to pass me. The foaming beast soon streaked past me, its small, blonde rider clinging doggedly to the reigns. As it passed I kicked my horse forward to a gallop and followed the steed in its mad career, until it stopped suddenly, exhausted, the rider falling off with the shock.

I dismounted quickly and ran to her side, seeing that she was unhurt. I then secured the horses to a neighbouring tree and went over to help her up. As the young elf turned towards me I realised that the face was surprisingly familiar. "Galadh, what on Middle Earth are you doing here? I left you back with your parents!" She looked at me, somewhat affronted, holding her horse tentatively as she said simply, "I came to follow you." I looked at her worriedly; she was so young, so innocent.

"Don't your parents need you?" I asked, "Why should you wish to follow me?"

She looked up at me, tears starting to her eyes, screwing up in her face in an expression of petulant annoyance. "My parents don't need me, my mother sent me to you. She thought that I would benefit more from following you, from seeing lands other than my own, and perhaps getting a husband while I am at it, there are few decent ones in Mithlond"

I laughed despite myself at her eagerness and she looked even more upset, bursting out, "Why are you laughing. Don't you want my company? Shall I just go back?" The tears began to run down her young face, and I moved over to wrap my arms around her, whispering to her "Don't cry, don't cry, I do want you with me, I do want your company on my journey if you will leave your family." She smiled at me through her tears, wiping her face. I helped her mount her horse and she rode beside me, my companion in the long, memory-dogged journey to Mirkwood.

We passed an uneventful journey. There was little danger now from Orc or other evil, and the roads had been repaired. The arm of Aragorn was indeed long, that he could thus improve his realms so far away from Gondor.

After months of journeying I at last saw in front of me the dark trees of Mirkwood, or Greenwood the Great as it had been known in happier times, before the coming of the Evil.

I rode through quickly, remembering familiar paths that I had not traversed for a long time, feeling the air and the darkness, revelling in the memories it bore. However, there was something subtly different, a new air of sadness or grief in the place that oppressed my joy and filled me with foreboding. Galadh shivered beside me, "There is something wrong, it feels so sad. Look even the horses are disturbed." Suddenly grave alarm rose inside me, there was something seriously wrong.

"Legolas!" I cried, and put spurs to my horse, my mind fixed on the horror that something may have happened to the one I loved.

Soon I arrived at the gate of Thranduil's halls, where I leaped of my mount and, throwing the reins willy-nilly to one of the guards, dashed through the main gate and ran quickly up the spiral staircase. I heard behind me the sounds of pursuit, and then a gentle voice saying, "She is Osellë, a friend of the princess, let her go" I continued on, towards Legolas' chambers, where I burst in, in a fit of panic, to find him sitting on the bed, weeping as if his heart would break.

He jumped up, turning pale when he saw me, as if I was a ghost. He stammered my name, and I stepped closer to him, "Yes I am here, what is wrong?" Somewhere close a baby cried, and I knew at once what the cause for his grief was. "She is not dead is she?"

My words seemed to bring him to his senses, as he shot me a look of such raw misery that my heart almost broke within me, "Not yet, but it will be close. Come I will take you to her, she would like to see you before the end." He took me by the hand, and led me to the neighbouring chamber, where the infant's wails were coming from. "There she is," he said, pushing me towards the bed as he covered his desolate eyes with his hands. I longed to put my arms around and kiss him, then and there, but I couldn't. So I walked up to the bedside, and taking the chair beside it, looked sadly at the sleeping form. Ten years had passed since I had last seen her, but the years had been kind to her. She had matured; the innocent vulnerability of childhood replaced by a confidence and peace that gave her beauty. Yet that beauty was changed, though unspoilt by the illness that had robbed the soft contours of cheek and chin, hollowed her eyes and made her breathing ragged and difficult. As I watched her, she opened her blue eyes, once so happy and young, now weary and full of pain. She gazed at me blankly for a moment, and then recognition filled her gaze. She smiled, but wanly, pain was too much for her. "Osellë," she whispered. "At last, you have come. I have waited and prayed for you to come, and now you are here, but on my deathbed." I felt a soft touch on my shoulder, and glanced upwards. Legolas had laid his hand on my shoulder and was beckoning me over to a cot beside the bed in which lay, not one, but two beautiful children, but a few hours old. "My sons, Estel and Keldarion" Legolas whispered, a hint of fatherly pride under his grief. He picked up one and me the other, bringing them closer to the bedside so that their mother could see them. She smiled at me and whispered, "Aren't they beautiful, just like their father." I nodded, the lump in my throat choking my words, I felt that if I spoke I would cry, and lose utterly my self-control. Suddenly she sat up, and reaching out her arms said "Give them to me, please let me hold them." I placed Estel on the bed beside her and she smiled again, her face set, as if conserving her remaining energy for one last effort.

"Legolas, my darling love," she sighed, "I must go now, I love you more than anything, look after my sons." He wept at these words, then suddenly he lost control and flung himself to his knees by the bed, "I will never see you again, for you will pass from the Halls of Mandos to the place where only Men can go, and where I cannot follow you. Let me come with you, I shall become Mortal for you, just as Arwen did for Aragorn."

"No, you are needed here. Look after our sons. I will not allow you to make this sacrifice for me." Her voice broke, and she seemed to flop down in to the pillows. I thought that the end had come, that she had at last died, but I was wrong. Her head rocked on the pillow and she opened her mouth, seeming to be battling strongly to say something, yet unable to. Finally she gave up and said simply "Osellë, Legolas" and with the last of her effort she joined our hands. We looked briefly into each other's eyes, a glance of understanding passed from each of us, both knowing what that action of hers had meant. I looked back to the bedside, to see her once laughing, vivacious, witty blue eyes glaze over, losing their shine. Her breathing became more erratic, the death rattle beginning in her pale throat. She opened her full, pale lips and mouthed the word "Legolas" Then her body became limp, the spark of life dying from her eyes, as she finally departed this world.

Choking back the tears that threatened to overwhelm me, I picked up gently the two children, leaving the distraught husband to his grief.


	7. Ship of Death

**Part Seven**

**Ship of Death**

"Build then the ship of death, for you must take  
the longest journey, to oblivion.

And die the death, the long and painful death  
that lies between the old self and the new.

Now launch the small ship, now as the body dies  
and life departs, launch out, the fragile soul  
in the fragile ship of courage, the ark of faith…"

**From 'Ship of Death' by D.H. Lawrence**

It was over, she was dead. This thought was a great millstone hanging round my slender neck, bearing me down, bending my back with its weight – choking me with my guilt.

Galadh stepped towards me, holding out her arms for the babe, which was in danger of falling out of my strengthless embrace, while trying to prevent the other one from pulling out my hair. "What has happened" Her voice seemed to take on a tone much beyond her few years; there was womanly anxiety in it that I had not heard before.

"She is dead – my friend, she died in childbirth. These two lovely infants are the cause of her death." I stared down at the child in my arms, as a wave of hatred swept through me, hatred for it, that it had stolen such a beautiful life, and for myself, that I could have such an aversion for something so innocent. It seemed to sense my feelings and immediately began wailing. I gazed at it, dumbstruck, at the pink, wriggling, bawling creature whose noise was disturbing the mourning house.

I gave Galadh a mute look of appeal as the other infant in her arms joined the deafening chorus.

"They're hungry" she said, "They need to be given milk."

"Riach," I exclaimed, she looked shocked, but I continued oblivious. "They'll need a wet nurse, where on earth are we going to find one of those?" She looked at me blankly as I dumped the baby, Estel, into her arms "I'll go and find one" and left, with some vague idea of finding the King, but utterly clueless beside.

I walked with my head down towards the staircase, only to bump into something soft that gave a grunt of annoyance. "Sorry" I exclaimed, looking up, cringing with embarrassment, in to the cool, annoyed gaze of the King. How foolish was I? I wished fervently that the earth would turn liquid and swallow me, but it remained stubbornly hard. Smiling nervously, I pointedly avoided his glance, resolved to grin and bear it, "Osellë," reproved, "I knew you were here, are you too lost in contemplation to be unable to see where you are going?" I looked at him, and he stepped back, obviously moved by the sheer misery of my expression – those bewitching eyes of mine game in useful sometimes. "She is gone then?" he enquired sadly. I nodded mutely, the lump in my throat constricting my speech. With difficulty I choked back my tears and croaked out, "Yes, she is dead. She died just now, your son is with her, but the babes are crying, they need a wet-nurse."

"Ah. I'm not sure we have one of those here."

"Well then, the babies will starve."

"No, wait a minute," he paused, furrowing his brow as if searching his mind, "I have it. There is Naerwen; wife of one of my guards, Arphenion, she has just lost her child, and will be pleased to have the care of them. Where are the children?"

"Coming quickly this way" He glanced up, obviously baffled. "They're coming this way? They're only a few hours old, surely they can't walk already?" I would have laughed at his bemused expression, but, he was the King, and I was to desolate for that anyway.

"No sire, Galadh is carrying her. She is a friend of mine, a young Elf-Maid of the people of Cirdan." Galadh came up and curtseyed awkwardly, with the children still in her arms.

"Mae govannen, Galadh" the King said benignly, as he sent of one of his attendants to fetch Naerwen. "The wet- nurse shall be here shortly and I will relieve you of your precious burden." I darted in just in time to catch Estel- I think, it was hard to tell, before he fell from her grasp. He immediately began wailing and the King winced. I was relieved when Naerwen, a young, bonny, but mournful creature, came up and took the babies, cooing them to silence. She curtseyed to the king and went back the way she had come, a baby cradled on each arm. I watched her go, and then turned to the king. "Sire, I am weary, have you somewhere for me to sleep, and for Galadh, for she is as tired as I." He nodded, pointing to a manservant behind him, who found us two adjacent chambers near the Prince's suite. Saying a quick goodbye to Galadh, I entered the room, and shutting the door behind me, throwing myself, fully clothed as I was, onto the bed, immediately falling asleep.

A gentle shaking woke me up, as I heard an unfamiliar voice calling my name. I groaned and sat up, staring straight into the averted gaze of the manservant who had shown me to my room. "Lady Osellë, I am sorry to have to wake you, but you are needed at council by the King. Funeral arrangements need to be discussed." I nodded, unwillingly, and shooed him out the room. With difficulty I pulled myself of the bed, and aching in every limb, moved to the chest where my bundle lay. Next to it there was a rich black velvet dress, embroidered with roses, and a slightly plainer one of a sombre hue. There was a note, which simply said, 'Mourning, for Osellë'. I put on quickly the plainer one of the two and glanced into a mirror. The black made my already pale face paler, my dark shadowed-eyes standing out starkly. I dragged a comb through my tangled hair and left, following the manservant as he led me to the Great Hall.

The long, high-ceilinged room was covered with black drapes, as was the table in the middle, around which the elders sat. The King's dais was similarly draped, the seats either side of him conspicuous in their emptiness. He signalled me to a chair on his left, and I gratefully sat down. "Osellë, daughter of Eldarestalo," he said, his voice cracked and weary beneath its dignity. "You are called here as a dear friend of the deceased. As my son is unwell, I ask you to decide the best way to send her to her fathers." I looked at him, blankly. How was I to know how she wanted to be buried? I had seen neither hide nor hair of her for ten years, why should I be given this task? "Well," I hazarded, "The mortal customs are burying or burning on a pyre, but I do not think that Prince Legolas will like the idea of his darling wife eaten by worms or consumed by flame," I said, unable to resist a hint of sarcasm. I sat and thought for a moment, the eyes of the Hall fixed upon me. Suddenly it came to me. "I've got it!" I shouted, and then cringed, lowering my voice to a more seemly tone, "We shall consign her to the river,"

"What?" the king demanded.

"You have heard tell of the passing of Boromir son of Denethor. How, after his courageous death, he was consigned in a boat to the bosom of the Anduin, letting the river take him where it will – that will be the best way for her." To my surprise my suggestion was met by unanimous approval. Suddenly a rather breathless guard burst in, and, scarcely waiting for the king's permission, blurted out. "Sire, your son has gone mad!" A stunned silence fell onto the gathering. Legolas mad! Oh Ilúvatur, he couldn't be, my darling prince, mad! I looked at King Thranduil's face, which showed the same expression of grieving disbelief that mine did. "Yes mad," the guard continued. "When we tried to recover the body, he barricaded the door, refusing to let anyone in. And when we tried to force it, he sent an arrow out, narrowly missing my companion's head. He swore that he would do the same to anyone who tried to gain entry."

Tharundil leapt up, but I placed a restraining hand gently on his arm. "No, sire, I will go. I will coax him into resigning the body, and if he kills me, no matter. I would die anyway, for I couldn't live, knowing that he was insane." Tharundil nodded and I stumbled to by feet; trembling with anxiety. Soon I reached his door, knocking gently, and then more firmly until I received a curt "Who goes there?"

A knife of pain shot through me at the utter misery of his beautiful voice, the tears came unbidden to my eyes and fell unchecked down my cheeks. "It's Osellë," I whispered, my cracked voice scarcely audible. Yet his keen Elven ears heard me, for the door I leant on opened unexpectedly, and I fell backwards over the threshold, and into his outstretched arms. He held me close for a moment, as a glimmer of love entered his blue-grey eyes; only to be drowned by the grief inside them – at least they showed no signs of insanity.

I sighed as he relinquished me, "I have come to take Vénea away; you cannot keep her here for ever."

"I know," he moaned

"Then why did you threaten to kill the guards who came to fulfil that task?"

"They were rough and ungentle. I couldn't sacrifice my dear wife to them. But I can to you. Come, take her for burial, you were her friend." He brushed his hand over his forehead, as if trying to banish these thoughts and then, going over to the bed on which the corpse lay, he kissed its cold lips and then pulled the sheet regretfully over the pallid face. "Now take her."

I stepped outside the room and signalled to the servants waiting outside. "You may take her," I said sadly, and they came in, bowing nervously to their prince, who stood erect, face averted, so that they would not see the desolation in his eyes. My heart wrenched, as he stood there so proud, so vulnerable. I couldn't resist touching him gently on the shoulder, to remind him that he wasn't alone. Lost in contemplation at the once laughing and vivacious, now cold corpse that the servants were shouldering; I became aware of their whispered conversation. "Well, this is a change of tune, eh?"

"What d' you mean?" another replied

"It takes a woman's touch doesn't it, to separate the distraught Prince from his wife. I wonder what she has promised him..."

"Or how soon there will be a new princess of Mirkwood to replace this defunct article." Legolas gave a jerk, as a flash of anger danced into his clear blue eyes. He drew himself up and gave them such a withering look of Princely ire that they froze to the spot, almost dropping their precious burden. "How dare you speak of your princess in such a manner?" He exclaimed imperiously, his voice full of such cool arrogance and authority that the unfortunate souls literally stood shaking in their boots. "Now go. You are not fit to even touch the sole of her dead foot, let alone carry her to her last resting place." His tone dropped to one of quiet and deliberate menace, even more terrifying then the obvious fury before. "Now, give me the body and leave. Stand before the King and proclaim at once your guilt or else quit Mirkwood, for you are banished from my sight."

With one accord, he and I leapt forward to grab the body, just as the petrified servants turned tail and ran. She was surprisingly heavy as he and I carried her out of the room, and along the corridor. The stairs were a bit of a problem, but we managed, and carrying her to the Great hall, we laid her on the table. With a glance from me, Legolas left, leaving me to prepare the body.

Suddenly the door opened and a she-elf that I had never seen before stood before me. She was tall, my height, with long, dark hair, a sharp chin and a twinkle of mischief in her eyes, marking her out for a trickster that even death could not subdue. "Osellë," she said brusquely, drawing near to stare at the deceased, "I am Aswen, friend of the late princess"

"And" I cut in coolly, taking an instant and unaccountable dislike to her, "What can I do for you?"

She drew herself up and smiled sardonically, but the sadness in her eyes was plain to see. I warmed to her somewhat at this evident love of the dead, until she opened her mouth. Her words quickly banished any slight sympathy I had for her. "I've heard that you are sticking our poor Vénea in a boat, instead of giving her a nice burial mound somewhere in the forest. Depriving the bereaved husband of a place to lay flowers, are you?"

"How does that concern you?" I retorted, increasing the cold loathing in my tone

"Seeing as she was my friendI wish to have some part in her sending off. Who is preparing the boat then?" Her tone, under its apparent politeness, had an edge of insolence that I found extremely irritating, but I kept my composure intact,

"So you wish to be given that task then?"

"In a word, yes."

"It is yours." she stepped back, staring at me as if she was unable to believe her ears.

"You mean you want me to arrange the boat?"

"Yes" I said curtly, "I cannot do everything myself, I was just about to ask for volunteers for that, but since you offered, it saves me a job. You may start now if you wish. I give you a free reign, but remember that her favourite colour was blue, and that she will be wearing her wedding dress which is green."

She gazed at me, obviously touched as she stammered, "Than...Thank you for your generous offer, it means so much to me," my aversion decreased as I saw that she really had a great affection for Vénea.

"Go then. Find someone who knows the location of the boat, and a team that will help you with sewing and anything else. You have a day." She turned and disappeared, muttering something under her breath that didn't sound very much like gratitude.

I sighed; I should have been less cold and arrogant with her. I had made, if not an enemy, than not an ally either. I was in no position to be arrogant. For all I knew she was of a higher status than I, married probably, so having the backing of a husband and some station here. Whereas I, I was a landless wanderer, enamoured of the prince maybe, but not likely to become his wife.

I gazed at the still body of Vénea; she seemed as if only sleeping, with a gentle smile on her face, she had been so vibrant, so alive. I would be but a mere shadow to her in any relationship – a beautiful one maybe, but neither as vital nor as mirthful as she.

Covering her face, I called the maidservants and friends to help me prepare the body – a grim task but a necessary one. Soon we had her clothed in her wedding dress, her hair braided, her lips rouged. She seemed again to be that seventeen year old that had stolen Legolas' heart. Death had effaced the troubles of ten years and all the pain of childbirth, leaving her young and fresh.

We women kept a vigil by the corpse; I sat by Galadh as gradually the others fell asleep. She soon dropped off and I was left alone, the silent watcher, with only my thoughts as companions. I too must have slumbered, for I dreamt that Vénea was standing beside me, leaning over my shoulder and telling me of her love. She took me by the hand and led me through the scenes of her married life until I burnt with envy. She then reminded me of my thoughts, as I was alone in Rivendell, of how I had, subconsciously maybe, desired her death, wishing that she had not existed so that I could have married my Prince. She caused me to writhe with guilt at my own wicked mind. I then remembered my midnight council with Legolas on the eve of their wedding. He had come to me with his dilemma, his dream that he would be the death of Vénea through marrying her, and I advised him to tie the knot anyway, knowing full well that she would die because of him – and of me. I was not fit to keep vigil over her corpse; I had no right to sit here when I had had some part, however small, in her death.

I opened my eyes; to see the first rays of dawn illuminate her countenance, catching a flash of green and gold around her neck that had not been there before. Round her white neck, nestled on her breast, was the emerald teardrop, heirloom of Mirkwood and given to the bride of the prince – she who had captured his heart. Arwen had given it to me and I had worn it proudly, but now she, she wore it. There was no hope for me; even in death she still held the heart of the prince. I was striving after a treasure that had already been seized. I leapt up and dashed to the door, determined to end this false existence, to lose my burden for good. Yet as I walked to the doorway I seemed to see her standing there, barring the way, preventing me from leaving. '_You shall not run away'_ she appeared to say, her voice as if from a distance, soft and remote as a gentle summer breeze. '_Remember my husband, look after him. You are not worthy, but no one is. He needs you as much as you need him'_. I blinked, and turned back, regaining my seat to watch out the night.

I did not have long to wait, for soon the court assembled and the body was placed on a litter, As the weak winter sun rose over the stark skeletons of the leafless trees, our black procession rode away, the litter bearing the corpse slung between two horses. I rode beside Legolas, his knee brushing against mine, rousing a mix of emotions within my breast every time he touched me, and yet stirring no response in him.

Soon we arrived at the lake, where Thranduil read the words of the dead over her, and she was placed into the boat – rather tastefully decorated in sky-blue and emerald green. Her hair was arranged so that it fell in raven profusion, the red highlights creating a soft halo around her face, a circlet of gold nestling on her locks.

Legolas imprinted one last kiss on her lips and whispered something to her that not even my keen ears could catch. He untied the boat and pushed it gently off, the swirling torrent of the Anduin catching it, the fitful breeze filling the black sail. The multitude of mourners let out a long sad sigh, that seemed to rise frown them and follow the boat, filling the sail and speeding its course. There were so many mournful faces, so many tear-filled eyes; the whole of Mirkwood seemed to be at this funeral, she was indeed well loved.

I stood on the edge of the river, my feet wetted by the water, as I watched the widening gulf between us and Vénea, Vénea and life. I felt a presence beside me; Legolas was also standing, gazing at the brave boat bobbing on the eddying river, utterly oblivious of my presence. His lips were moving, he was whispering her name over and over, and his blue grey eyes seemed to look straight through the rushing river, focusing on something that was invisible to me, yet all too plain to him. Suddenly I felt song rise within me – the affect of water and sadness seems to have that influence on me. I opened my mouth and let the words pour over the river, over the silent crowd of bowed heads, and over the black sailed boat that was drawing gradually away.

Tears, wails and lamentations

Fill this place.

All is mourning, sadness, grief

For young life's blossom,

Untimely cut.

That withers and dies,

Before it has yet lived.

The swirling torrent of the river

From spring to sea

It grew from nothing

To nothing it returns

As does she.

Come river, hold her coffin boat

Bear it to the sea

Bear it as she bore her death

Carried safely in her womb,

To the lands of the unknown.

You fade into darkness

Daughter of light.

I let the words linger on the air, the clear melody soaring then ceasing, as did she. As the last notes died, the Elven band, of one accord continued my lament:

Ilfirin nairelma nauva i nauva  
Ilfirin nairelma ar ullume nucuvalme  
Nauva i nauva melme héri sina nairelma.

_Undying our regret, what shall be shall be  
Undying our regret and yet we will cast all away,  
What shall be shall be, love for this lady our regret._

As we sang the vessel turned a bend in the river and was gone from sight.

Gradually we turned away from the river, not an eye was without a tear as we solemnly mounted our horses and went on our way. Legolas was the last to leave, standing alone as the gathering moved off to give him space. At last he turned and mounted his horse, giving one last, lingering look, to the river that was the grave of his wife.

We soon reached the eves of Mirkwood, but instead of the subdued silence we expected, the forest was full of noise and bustle, the sound of industrious voices jarring painfully on the silent melancholia of our mood. King Thranduil leaped of his horse and demanded, "What is this noise? Cease it at once," the noise instantly stopped. "This is no time for merrymaking. We are mourning our princess, what is the meaning of this bustle?"

The assembled crowd, mostly servants, stood guiltily, staring sidelong at each other, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, not daring to speak so as to sustain the king's wrath. "Well what is it?" he demanded. At last one of the multitude spoke up, his petrified voice scarcely audible as he bowed profusely, "Sire, King Elessar and Queen Arwen have just this minute arrived and we are trying to accommodate them"

"Very well" the king said, throwing his reigns to and attendant and walking quickly into the hall. Legolas and I followed his example as we spied a familiar figure, in which the dignity of kingship had not obscured the wild Ranger. He came up and embraced Legolas, and then me, and then turning to King Thranduil made a brief bow, saying mournfully, " I came as soon as I could after I heard the sad news, but I believe I am too late!"

Legolas nodded mutely, the utter misery of his handsome face saying it all.

"I see" Aragorn said simply, as his wife joined him at the doorway. "My dear, we are too late."

"Well, enter," invited the Elven king, leading the way into the hall, "We have but poor hospitality to give you, but you are welcome as our guests all the same."

I did not see Legolas for three days; he kept himself in his room, the one he had shared with Vénea. He refused all sustenance and admitted none but Aragorn, with whom he spent much time. I'd heard that I forbade anyone even to touch it. He considered it a monument to Vénea; he wished to keep it forever as it was, to let time age it as she herself might have aged had she not died. That suited me – I'd rather have nothing to do with the room that contained their marriage bed – it contained too many painful relics of what I might have had, had fate ruled otherwise.

I too kept myself to myself, seldom leaving the chamber except to wander in the forest. I could not abide company especially that of the women, whose assumed cheerfulness jarred on me. Even Galadh I avoided, leaving her to the company of Arwen, and of Aswen, whose worldly chatter seemed more suited to her than my bitter lamentations. I'm sure they grieved too, but my mourning was deepened by the intense guilt of my feelings for the dead woman's husband, and a sense of betraying our friendship while she lived.

On the third day, as I was roaming alone through the overhanging boughs, I heard footsteps behind me. Recognising them as Aragorn's I continued on, I didn't want to be drawn into conversation, by him or by anyone. However he soon caught up with me, easily falling into step beside me. I contemplated ignoring him, but decided against it, instead demanding rather rudely, "What do you want?" and then as an afterthought, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your Majesty"

"Osellë, Osellë," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, "No need to bite my head off, I only came to enquire of your well-being"

"I am sick and tired," I snapped, "Now go, and leave me to my misery."

"Osellë, Osellë," he repeated, shaking his head, despairingly, "Will you ever learn that others value you and appreciate you even if you don't?"

"Appreciate me, who appreciates me?" I questioned bitterly, "The one person that I crave to be valued by has decided that I am worthless. He is leaving me, to go to war with you, and to perhaps end his life. Do you wonder then that I consider myself unimportant?"

He gazed at me, dumbfounded at my words – then fell to his knees with mock veneration, making to kiss my feet. "O wise prophetess, look with favour on me in your might. For you can predict the future and divine the deepest intentions of a man's heart before he can voice them; and so flabbergast him with your knowledge!"

"Oh, get up off your knees, you silly man" I said with mock irritation, but really his jokes had lightened by a few shades my black mood. He rose from his knees and his expression became more serious. "Seriously, how do you know that I am going to fight and to take him with me, do you have the gift of prophecy, or has someone told you?"

"It's quite obvious" I retorted sharply, "The way you two have been closeted together, I knew you must have been cooking up something. Then I heard from Arwen of some trouble in the boarders of your kingdom. I put two and two together, and unsurprisingly hit the nail on the head. He needs something to distract him from his grief, so you are providing him with that distraction. He'll agree, of course, hoping to bury himself in activity and perhaps hoping to end his life in battle; he will get action, while I will be left here to rot and to bring up children that aren't even mine!"

He laughed a humorous, mocking laugh that quickly faded when he saw the expression of misery and complaint on my face.

"So, you are complaining because you have to look after children that are not yours, then?" he enquired sharply

"Not at all" I said desperately, and the words of suffering and misery poured out unchecked, after the floodgates of my icy reserve had been lifted. I stammered quickly, with the intention only to fix some of my feeling in his stubborn mind, "No, I will look after them without complaint – they are Vénea's and I owe her that much. Don't you see, I will devote my life to them and to her memory, there is noting left for me to devote my life to, none to offer me a shred of comfort in my hour of need? He does not love me – or rather he loves her memory more. He will leave me and I shall be left totally alone, I have made my bed of thorns and I will lie on it. Just think, I was one simple word away from having love and comfort for life. He came to me and begged me to be his wife but I said no – I was too attached to Legolas to think of doing anything else. I could have loved him, he loved me. But I refused and banished him, in so doing banished my only chance of happiness..."

"Banished who?" he demanded, "Who asked you to marry him?"

"Why, didn't you know?" I asked, trying to keep my voice plain and matter of fact, but failing miserably, "Didn't you know that your brother proposed to me twice, and both times I refused him, because I was blind to his suffering and thought only of mine. I didn't believe Elrohir..."

"Elrohir?" he interrupted, a look of sheer amazement on his face.

I nodded, and then continued, my voice rising to a sob as I struggled to convince him – convince him of what? My head was in a whirl, the tears streaming down my face, burning tears of anger, anguish, pain... "He loved me, and now it is too late. No one can love me; I am too cold, too distant, too unlovable. I should have gone to the Undying Lands when I had the chance – yet my stupid longings and regrets held me back... I now know that I am useless, unwanted, unnecessary to everyone here. I shall go again and never bother you – or him, I will do as I intended and bury my love and pain in the West."

I turned away, blinded by tears, the weight of grief too much to bear. I had thought that I had been abandoned, so was surprised when he exclaimed, "No, you shall not depart!"

"If you wish, sire," I replied resignedly, letting him catch up. As he did, a new wave of sobbing passed over me, and I muffled my face gratefully in his leather tunic.

"There, there," Aragorn muttered, seeming rather embarrassed to find me weeping on his shoulder. After a while I pulled myself together and wiped my tear-streaked face, "I apologise for my outburst, I hate it that you or anyone should see me like this"

"No, do not hate it," he replied, "I always thought that you were as a statue – beautiful but cold. Now I know you are flesh and blood, and I honestly think that he does love you."

"Him, how can that be?"

"He has told me often enough, he only has to realise it himself. Legolas is consumed with grief, of self hatred that he did not love Vénea as much as he thought... his heart was divided, you see. He feels that his lingering affection for you somehow quickened her demise, and so he is plagued with self-reproach. I am taking him away to give and outlet for that, to let him get over his grief so that he can realise that he is not all alone, that you love him truly and that he returns your affections. They say that 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' I believe that that will be the case for him."

I sighed and looked at him, he was sincere. I would remain, I would hope. "Only, look after him, and bring him safely back,"

"I will bring him back safe, his eyes opened and looking to the dawn."

I began to walk away slowly, but suddenly a thought hit me and I broke into a run. Where were the children? I had not seen them in three days! What if they were ill, what if they had been kidnapped?

I dashed madly through the gates and along the corridors, followed by a hail of angry retorts as people either side of me went flying as I careered along, but I ignored them and continued along, shouting periodically, "Where are the princes, where is Naerwen?" pausing only to hear directions from a slightly less affronted pageboy. At last I barged into her chamber, without even knocking at the door, only to cringe in embarrassment at my rude entry, my alarm unfounded. The princes, instead of being ill or abducted were each absorbed in milky heaven, one on each of Naerwen's breasts.

She looked at me wonderingly as I stood stock still, rooted to the spot by my own acute mortification, but I at last pulled myself together and smiled condescendingly at her. "How are the young princes?" I enquired gently – trying to keep the irritation at my unwonted panic out of my voice.

She looked up at me demurely through downcast eyes, stroking the children's' heads. She said softly, "They are well, my lady; adorable things," as the babes finished their feed and she unashamedly refastened her dress. I took the babies from her, as she bustled around the small room. Wiping their milky mouths, I rocked them backwards and forwards while they lay cooing softly, drifting to sleep. They smelt clean and fresh, their soft, downy hair tickling my arms. I felt a pang of jealousy inside me, I so wished that these infants were mine – but alas they were not.

Gradually the babies drifted off in my arms and I lay them gently into their cradle. I smiled at Naerwen, indicating the slumbering infants, and left, shutting the door gently behind me; making my way to the hall where I endeavoured to eat something and thence to bed.

I lay alone in my chamber; it was dark – the pale moonlight illuminating the ordinary furniture, giving it and almost ethereal quality.

Slowly I became aware of a soft tapping on the door, which must have woken me from my rest. "Come in," I called, thinking my nightly visitor to be Galadh, unable to sleep, or perhaps Naerwen.

The door opened slowly, and a figure slipped through the aperture. I almost jumped in amazement, my heart missing a beat as the tall, lithe figure of my love came towards me, his golden hair shimmering in the half-light, the glimmer of stars in his dancing eyes. "Vanimle sila tiri" _Your beauty is like the stars_. I whispered, overcome by awe – he looked almost godly in the starlight, as if one of the Valar had come to Middle earth and was gently sitting on the bed beside me...

I sighed deeply, an electric shiver running down my spine as he whispered my name – a smile of heart-rending sadness on his lovely lips.

His low, mirthless laugh broke the spell and; trust me to think of the propriety of him in my bedchamber even if he was the one I loved. "Why have you come into my chamber at such a late hour?" I enquired, defensively drawing my pillow between us.

He laughed again, "Osellë, Osellë. Shall I go away then? Do you not want me here?"

"Please... Please don't go," I entreated, I couldn't bear him to leave me, to abandon me now.

"But I have to leave," he said gently, "I'm going..."

I cut him off sharply, "I know you are. I know you are leaving me to fight, to bury grief in action and perchance seek death, leaving me to care for your children."

"How do you know?" he gasped, drawing back involuntarily.

"Aragorn – and anyway I guessed before – I know you too well. I know how much you loved her and how much you love combat."

Suddenly I felt a wave of anger spread through me, at him and at my cruel fate. "If this is my lot in life then," I demanded, my hands convulsively gripping the pillow, "To be nursemaid to your two sons, to wait here without comfort, without love, for your unlikely return; to be alone and cold while I so crave affection. I should have married Elrohir – at least he loved me!"

Before I knew what I was doing I had flung the pillow at him, bowling him backwards off the bed, while I stood erect, eyes flashing, consumed by rage and pain.

He pulled himself up gingerly, rubbing his back, the pillow clenched between figure and thumb like some poisonous snake that might bite him.

"Why did you do that?" he enquired.

"I thought you enjoyed pillow fights, you had plenty with your late lamented wife," I said, my voice sarcastic, using it as a shield to hide the utter desolation inside.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," he muttered sardonically, massaging his rear deridingly.

"Go then if you scorn me," I groaned, burning tears flowing form my eyes and coursing down my cheeks. "Yet I will not be angry. I am your dog, I will follow you. I will lick the hand that beats me and will fawn on you who curse me. You do not have to love me, but please don't leave me so."

He sighed, the mockery fading out of his eyes to be replaced by intense compassion and, dare I say it, love. "No, you are not my dog; you are too proud and too beautiful to be beaten or mistreated. You are my watcher and my helpmate; you will be there for me. I knew before that you loved me, yet you loved me so unconditionally that you sacrificed yourself for my happiness. The least I can do is love you in return!" He leaned over, gently brushing a stray hair from my face, and then suddenly wrapped his arms around my waist, drawing me towards him, planting a long, impassioned kiss on my startled lips. I was going to say, 'remember Vénea', as I had done the last time he kissed me, but I realised that there was now no Vénea to prevent us expressing our love...

He rose to leave before the stars death, before the first rays of the early sun could penetrate into the room and banish the blessed dark. "You cannot go," I said as he stood, making quickly for the door. "But I must," he sighed, "I must go. You were right when I said that I needed to bury my grief, for I truly loved her, and love her still – although I know that is not quite compatible with the affection I have expressed to you. I want to fight, to find action. If I stayed I would be reproaching myself everyday for taking you to be my wife so soon, I would not be doing justice to my poor, poor wife's memory."

"Go then, if you will," I said, unwillingly removing my arms from around his neck, using them instead to push him away. "It is best that you should be off with the old before you are on with the new. I will care for your sons as if they are my own. But I will wait longingly every day for you, no matter whether you are one year or one thousand years away."

He kissed me again and I shut my eyes to imprint this moment forever on my memory. But it ended, alas too soon. He unentwined his arms from my waist and walked towards the door, leaving the half spoken promise, "When I return..." lingering in the air as he gently shut the door.


	8. Gates of Dawn

**Part Eight**

**The Gates of Dawn**

I know now, just quite how  
My life and love might still go on  
In your heart and your mind  
I'll stay with you for all of time

If I could, then I would  
I'll go wherever you will go  
Way up high or down low  
I'll go wherever you will go

**The Calling 'Wherever you will go'**

"The greatest happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved,  
loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves."

**Victor Hugo**

**

* * *

**

Ten Years Later

"Estel, Keldarion, come here at once," I called, as the two little Elf-children came running and tumbling over each other to reach me, Galadh behind me laughed as I wrapped my arms around the mischievous pair. "Just like their father," I commented to her, as they danced around me, rolling over each other like puppies. Soon they grew bored of that amusement, and instead hung on my skirts, "Naneth, mother," they chorused, and I bent down to them. "What have I told you before about calling me mother?" I said, "Your mother is with the Valar, I am not her." These words caused me great pain; it felt so good that they called me mother, I so wished that they were my own children – yet I could not. I could not claim them for myself, that would be wrong both to the memory of their mother, and to their father, my love, whom I had not seen for so long.

I smiled, and taking Galadh by the hand I went inside, after severely admonishing the children not to stray, forgetting that such is the contrariness of the infant mind, that is what they would do.

After about an hour of talking to Galadh I realised with a start that the children had been left unattended. I jumped up, my sewing falling from my lap and tumbling to the floor. "What is it?" she enquired as I hurried quickly to the door, "The boys, I have left them alone for too long. What if they've got hurt? What if they've run off? Oh, I must go and find them."

"Calm yourself Osellë; they can't have gone far," she said reassuringly, "Remember the last time you got into a panic about them? You rudely abandoned King Elessar in mid conversation, knocked over a few of the most important of the courtiers, causing many a sore elbow, and even worse, a bruised dignity, while you were excruciatingly embarrassed when you exploded in on poor Naerwen, only to find that the children were perfectly safe."

"I know, I know, but this feels different. I feel that something serious has indeed happened." She must have sensed my panic, for she looked as anxious as I, and of one accord, we made for the door and ran as fast as we could along the corridors and out, arriving suddenly at the bit of land where the lads often played, just outside the main gates. This time my anxiety was justified, for the piece of land was utterly empty save for the falling leaves, and when I called, there was no quick patter of feet in reply.

About an hour later, I found myself running blindly through the forest hallooing their names to the winds in the vain hope that I would hear an answering call, but none came.

I had failed them; I had failed their father. This search was fruitless, for I would never find them at this rate; I didn't have the foggiest idea of where they could be. I was looking for a needle in a haystack, a haystack many fathoms wide and two needles only a few feet tall.

Yet I couldn't go back, I couldn't admit defeat. Even as night fell I was still searching. I blessed my Elven vision that penetrated even the obscurity of the forest night, allowing me to continue my search in a darkness that would have rendered blind an ordinary mortal's eyes.

I heard a rustle of leaves and turned around, hoping against hope that it was they, but the stride, though light, was too heavy for small children. I gazed into the darkness as the figure advanced through the trees, slowly pulling a dagger from a pocket of my dress in case I needed to defend myself. He drew closer and I stood poised, ready to fight or flee should he be aggressive. I needn't have worried, for his face, when the light of the stars fell upon it, was definitely familiar and essentially friendly.

"Elrohir" I exclaimed, as he smiled broadly, stretching out his arms as if to embrace me, his smile fading as I held out my hand to him instead of falling into his arms. He took my proffered hand, kissing it passionately and then returning it to me.

"Long time, no see eh?" he said joyously.

"Yes, it's been seventeen years, has it not? Things have changed much."

"But not my feelings for you" he replied warmly.

"Nor mine, I'm sorry," I said somewhat coldly as his face fell.

I hugged him after all; he looked so sad, calling him 'my brother' so that he would not misconstrue my meaning. Suddenly I was again gripped with worry, and exclaimed anxiously, "But I can't stay, I can't stay. I have to find the children."

"You have children?" he enquired bitterly, "Things have changed much then."

"Not mine; unfortunately, they are Legolas and Vénea's. I am their guardian and I have lost them."

"Oh no," he said, his concern hiding a sense of relief that the children were not my own.

"I must find them, I must!"

"You can't go wandering in the woods alone," he cautioned, "it is dark and you are unarmed."

"No I am not!" I said sharply, brandishing the dagger threateningly,

"That little knife," he laughed disdainfully, "You would be long dead before your foe was in striking distance"

I narrowed my eyes, and bringing up the dagger, I scrutinised him for a moment, then with a quick flick of my wrist I threw it. He gasped as it whistled past his ear and embedded itself, quivering, in the tree trunk, just inches from his dark head.

"Now you see that I am not undefended, please let me go,"

"Yes I will" he shouted, "you are not safe to have around, you almost killed me! I pity any wild beast that strays into your path."

"Fine then" I said and turned away, ploughing stubbornly deeper into the forest.

Soon I heard the drumming of feet behind me and felt a restraining hand on my shoulder. "No, you need my help," Elrohir proclaimed, "You are going about tracking totally the wrong way. Firstly, you need to have some idea where your quarry – in this case the children went. Now, we will go back to the castle and retrace their steps from there."

"But the castle is hours away, I have been wandering for ages,"

"You must have been wandering around in circles then," he retorted sharply, "for the castle is only a short distance north of here." He pointed the way I had come. And indeed it was, for we soon reached the piece of land where I had last seen the boys. Elrohir motioned me to stay where I was while he bent down and began closely scrutinising the ground for signs showing where the children had gone. He was bending down, his rather nice posterior in my face as a loud voice came form somewhere near the gate. "Ho there, what y' doing trespassing on t' King's lan'. Show yerselfs." I turned with great dignity, while Elrohir pointedly kept his unbecoming posture. "Who are you that you can speak to me in such an impertinent manner?" I demanded coldly, advancing towards the gate. The guard, a rather rough, ungainly elf that looked rather like he had some dwarf blood in him, on seeing my face illuminated by the moonlight, leapt to attention, cringing with acute embarrassment. "Beg your pardon, milady," he whined, "but we've been wary on t' lookout fo' strangers, since t' princes disappeared."

"They have not been found then?"

"No milady, though the whole of Mirkwood's been scoring the forest looking fo' 'em. We thought we'd lost you as well."

Suddenly Elrohir leapt up, and beckoning wildly, pointed to a tiny depressing in the dew soaked grass that was almost invisible to even an Elven eye, save that the light of the moon shone directly upon it. "They went this way," he said, pointing to a trail of similar depressions. I followed his pointing finger, along the barely visible trail that the two boys had made, which was soon lost in the gloom of the overhanging trees. They grew more thickly and more dankly there than in any of the surrounding woodland, totally blocking out the light of the setting moon in blackness so dense that even Elven vision could barely pierce it. I gulped, turning to Elrohir, I said in a voice of barely concealed panic, "They've gone that way?"

"Undoubtedly."

"But that is the most dangerous part of the whole forest. The Necromancer inhabited those parts when he lived here, and traces of his evil still linger in the darkest places. There are spiders as huge as a dog that will hunt the children, wrapping them in their foul webs before consuming them. And then there is the stream of forgetfulness, which brings deep sleep and even death to those who venture in it," I seized hold of his arm, barely suppressing my terror, "and the children have gone that way!" Forcing down my rising hysteria, I ran towards the guard, stammering, "Please, give me your bow, for I am going to enter into the forest and search for the princes even into the danger and dark of that place." He gaped at me as I gently prised the bow and quiver form his unresisting grip. Suddenly he snapped straight and burst out, "you canna venture that way, milady. I wouldna go there even in the midday sun, let alone at night,"

"But I am not asking you to go, nor you, Elrohir," I said, "I will go even in the dark and if needs be alone because I owe that duty to their father and to them." Bearing the guard's bow aloft, I hastened towards the forest boundary, following the track that the princes had made, and plunging, without a backwards glance, into the trees. Yet, I as not alone, for soon Elrohir came running up, an arrow fitted to his bowstring, "You don't know the first thing about tracking," he said, "and if you are too stubborn to wait 'till morning, then at least let me come with you. Better to risk death with you, for if you died then I couldn't bear to live with the guilt." I smiled to myself, and thanking him for his we continued on our way. Our progress was painfully slow as Elrohir slashed his way through the undergrowth, always keeping close to the now more obvious trail that the two princes had made. I drew instinctively closer to him as the darkness drew in and enveloped us. A cold shiver ran down my spine at the eerie silence of the place, not a leaf stirred, not a branch rustled. There was no sound of animals or night birds; we seemed to be the only living things in the whole hellish place, our breathing echoing loudly in the stilly air. Suddenly I felt something jerk at my long hair and I screamed. Elrohir turned thunderously to me and shoved a rather hard hand onto my mouth, silencing me by his stare. I tried to pull away but I couldn't move I was held too tightly. "I can't move my head," I whispered, "please untangle me."

"Damn your long hair," he whispered as he set to the task, yanking at my hair as if he wanted to pull it from my head. I gave a muffled 'ouch' at his harsh treatment, causing him to tease out each strand with elaborate care, yet I still remained inexorably ensnared by that evil plant. Suddenly he lost all patience and drew out his sword. Suddenly I was free, my lovely long locks still cruelly tangled in the ensnaring thorns. I screamed again, the severing of my beautiful hair was a physical pain – as if one of my limbs has been cut off. I spun round, yanking my now shortened locks that Elrohir still held in his hands and, pointing an accusing finger at him, exploded, "Do you know what you have done to me? You have destroyed a part of me; you have destroyed a lifetime's work!"

"Its only hair, it'll grow," he ridiculed, but rather nervously, fending off my flailing fists, as I ranted, "of course it will grow back, in like a hundred years. A hundred years work that you have destroyed in a second!" I whirled around again, trying to see what damage he had done – but of course a hand which should have been met with a thick, soft veil of smooth dark hair, only to touch the smooth fabric of my dress." The ends aren't even straight!" I exploded, turning by back on him and beginning to walk off deeper into the forest when a sudden noise in the treetops above my head, instead casing me to run back to him, my fear far outweighing my momentary revulsion to his company. "What was that?" I whispered fearfully, drawing closer towards him. He simply pointed and I followed his trembling figure until I found my self staring into the huge, saucer sized eyes of the biggest spider I had ever seen, at least the size of a dog, or even bigger! I screamed as I advanced towards me, its foul fangs raised for the kill. I caught a glimpse of a round, fat, hairy body and legs the length of my arm before I sent an arrow flying right into its heart (if it had one) giving a smirk of satisfaction as the creature plummeted to the ground.

However, the smugness was soon wiped off my face as I looked up, to see treetop after treetop covered with thick, white ropes that could only be spider webs, on the middle of each sat a huge black blob, all bigger than the one that I had just killed. I screamed again, for I had just noticed something that made my blood run cold, for there, in the centre of the largest web, guarded by the biggest spider I could just see the sole of a small, wildly kicking foot, that to my horror, I recognised as one of the twins, projecting out of a huge cocoon like mass of cobwebs that could only be the spider's next meal!

With a cry of despair I seized Elrohir's sword and launched myself at the nearest tree, pulling my self up towards the webs, my only thought to free the flailing child before the spider could begin its supper. I soon reached the top and began thrashing wildly about me with the weapon, dismembering any spider that drew too close. My movements seemed to catch the attention of the other spiders, for they all rounded on me en masse, scuttling along their thin bridges to surround me. Soon all the spiders had gathered in a huge arc around me and I stood, staring into their evil eyes that were just below mine. As yet none of them advanced and I gave my sword a desultory shake, shouting out silently to Elrohir, "Quick, get the child while I distract these foul beasts," I saw him wave his arm from far below in reply, and lunged ferociously at the nearest spider to focus their attention on me. "Good thing I was never scared of spiders," I whispered to myself as I turned on the first one, ramming my sword into its vile belly. This seemed to spur the others to action, for they attacked me simultaneously, each baring its loathsome fangs to sink into me if I let my guard fall. I fought off the second spider and it soon joined the first on the distant ground. Soon the foul creatures were falling like flies around me, one meeting its end at every blow of my blade. I a wave of anger and, dare I say it, exultation – almost bloodlust, in this unequal battle, one solitary Elf against a horde of giant spiders, just as I had felt in the mines of Moria when I waged my lone crusade against the Orcs.

Soon my blade and my tunic were coated with the foul blood of spiders and the pile on the ground below of their dismembered corpses was growing rapidly. I gave a demonic laugh, and with blazing eyes, advancing along the narrow branch on which I was perched, the beasts retreating before me. I took advantage of this lull in their attack to see how Elrohir was succeeding in disentangling the child from the web. He seemed to be doing well, the wildly struggling boy almost free, and, reassured by this I was about to make a fresh onslaught when, out of the corner of my eye I spied the largest spider bending over Elrohir, its fangs exposed, ready to inject him with its poison. Without thinking I drew out the dagger from my pocket and taking a quick aim threw it so that it impaled the foul creature, knocking it backwards to bite the dust.

Suddenly, a fierce, burning pain shot through my neck, paralysing me for an instant, causing a great rush of pain to sweep through me, instantly followed by an intense lethargy, numbing my mind and freezing my limbs. "I've been got!" I exclaimed; I knew that I would probably die; my only thought before my mind went completely blank was of the ludicrousness of the situation – killed by a spider, how funny!

I came too to a weird feeling of lying on something squashy and quite unpleasant, rather like a hairy dung heap. I sat up difficulty, swaying gently as I stood up, instantly collapsing. The thought gradually dawned in my still befuddled mind that a spider was devouring me, but I gradually realised that my limbs were not covered by cobweb, but were completely free. I moved each of my limbs warily in turn just to check, they were unconstrained. I gave an amused laugh and tottered again to my feet, falling again on something soft, I laughed again to hear a muffled shout coming from beneath me, I never knew the ground could talk. Gradually the effects of the spider's poison withdrew form my mind and I realised with a start that I was in fact lying on a rather disgruntled and obviously exasperated Elrohir. "Get off of me," he shouted and I obediently rolled off, finding my feet more easily. I stood up, and noticed a rather dirty and be-cobwebbed Keldarion, staring up at me with huge, 'innocent' eyes. I rushed up and folded him in my arms, scolding and kissing him in turns, unsure whether to be angry at his running away or glad that he was safe. Soon my gladness overtook me and I kissed him again, while he wriggled uncomfortably in my arms, obviously I had been hugging him too long for his liking.

I unwillingly released him and instead demanded, "Where is your brother?" he shifted his feet uneasily, avoiding my gaze. I pressed him again, half inclined to give way to my anger when he blurted out, "He fell into the water!"

"What!"

"He fell into the sleeping stream, or what ever it's called, he's lying on the far bank now, asleep." Oh no, he had fallen into the waters, the dreaded stream of forgetfulness, and was on the opposite bank with no way of rescuing him. I gave Keldarion a hard cuff on the ear that sent him reeling, and turning my back on both him and Elrohir, rushed off towards the stream.

Soon arrived at a space where the trees grew more sparely, and even the evil creatures that haunted this part of the forest were silent, and a great drowsiness seemed to full the air, rising from the sluggish, glittering waters of the black brook that snaked its way though the trees.

One weak ray of light managed to struggle through the dense canopy, to illuminate for a second the opposite bank, and in that brief moment before it vanished I noticed, to my horror and relief, a small, red-gold head poking out of the water on the other side of the river.

Just then Elrohir and Keldarion came running up, anxious to confront me with my treatment of Keldarion, but I ignored them, instead desperately scrutinising the river, looking for any means to get across to Estel. Just as I was about to give up hope my eyes fell on a rather fragile looking branch that stretched across the river, lodged firmly on the opposite bank. After guessing that it would bear me, just, I removed all unnecessary weight, dumping my bow, sword, quiver and cloak in Elrohir's outstretched arms. I surveyed my long overgarment, and much to Elrohir's amazement, pulled it off too. "If you want to change your mind about lying with me then I am quite open to it," he exclaimed laughingly, "but now's not quite the time or the place, especially in front of young children. Shall I send Keldarion away for a second while we…"

"Sorry to disappoint you," I interrupted, "but I am removing my over-garment – and nothing more, so that I am not tripped up while I cross the stream." I ignored his protests and put one foot warily on the slender bridge. It creaked slightly, but bore my weight and I hurried quickly across it, soon finding myself safely on the opposite bank. Seizing a stick from the ground, I hooked it into the belt of the unconscious child, and hauled him, dripping out of the water and on to the bank, making sure that I was not splashed by any of the water, for I did not really want to fall asleep right at this moment in time. When he had stopped dripping, I hoisted him on to my back, staggering under his weight for a second but easily righting myself. I hobbled to the slender bridge and then stopped. It looked so frail; it would break so easily, I could hardly believe that it had borne my small weight let alone the combined weight of the child and me. But there was no other way to get across, I did not know if there was any other crossing place and I dare not risk wandering along the bank. My strength was already giving out, the effects of the poison and of the river almost too much for me. Hoisting Estel higher up my back, I screwed up my courage and placed one foot on the branch, then my other one. It creaked dangerously but showed now signs of snapping as yet so I continued on, eyes fixed on the plank beneath me. I blocked out all other distractions from my mind other than the need to get to safety – I was doing well, I was almost at the middle, not far to go... Gradually my attention began to wander, my gaze distracted by the flow of the black water under my feet. My eyelids grew heavy and I felt a strange numbness creep over me, I was gradually falling under the river's spell. I realised suddenly that I would have to act quickly before it gained full influence over me and I fell into the river. I gazed at Elrohir on the opposite bank, gave a short run-up along my precarious perch and, pulling the child off my back, flung him across the river, leaping after him and landing with a thud on the opposite bank to tumultuous applause from both Elrohir and Keldarion. "Bravo, Bravo" Elrohir called, then embraced me warmly, "that finishing touch was excellent, I really thought you were going to fall into the river!"

"So did I, so did I," suddenly Keldarion, who had been bending over the inanimate form of his brother, gave a long, low whistle, "Osellë," he said half laughing, half nervous, "You'd better do something about your dress,"

"No, she shouldn't," Elrohir quipped, "She looks incredibly attractive at the moment! Quite bewitching"

"What? What's wrong with my dress?" I demanded, and then looked down and blushed crimson, for my undergarment had slipped quite dangerously, exposing a large amount of white breast. Quickly tugging it up I pulled on my overgarment, and hauling Estel onto my shoulders, I hurried off towards Thranduil's Halls. "Hey, wait up!" Elrohir shouted behind me, but I hurried on regardless, quite forgetting the weight of the child on my back in my eagerness to be home. I was full with a sense of expectation, which grew within me with every step I made; something was calling me, calling me onward, pulling me towards the halls. I broke into a run as I realised what this call was. It was Legolas, he had returned!

In an agony of anticipation I quickened my pace, flying through the forest, my dancing feet barely touching the ground, the burden on my back could have been as light as a feather for all I felt it. Forgetting totally about Elrohir and Keldarion who were somewhere behind I dashed on, as the trees thinned around me, the shade of their canopy being replaced with the merry light of the sun, the very birds sharing my joy. I teared into the clearing, shutting my eyes for the surprise to be greater, my lips parted, ready for his kiss, but it didn't come. I opened y eyes them slowly, my bubble of hope burst. He was not there, he had not come, my desires were fruitless, I had lifted myself up on a wave of hope, only to come crashing down. My slumbering burden, which had, during my elation, been as light as a feather, suddenly felt like that I had the whole Earth on my shoulders. I staggered and had great difficulty in falling through the gate, where I collapsed on the floor. I did not remain on the ground for long though, soon many hands were lifting me up; many faces were full of concern. I saw the face of Tharundil among them, holding the child, "You're back, you're safe," he exclaimed, embracing me warmly, "But what has happened to Estel, why will he not wake? And where is Keldarion?"

I sighed, and smiled wanly, "Estel fell into the stream – the steam of forgetfulness, he should wake up eventually. Keldarion – he is coming with Elrohir, in fact he is arriving now." I said as a rather red faced Elrohir burst into the room, followed by Keldarion, who was immediately embraced by his grandfather. They hung around me with hundreds of questions, eager to know about my adventures, but I brushed them off, pleading tiredness, wanting only solitude, to be alone with my crushed hopes. I took the sleeping child and carried him to his room, laying him on the bed while I knelt beside him, bathing his body with my silent tears.

Some time later I felt a gentle hand on my shaking shoulder, sending an electric shiver down my spine "Legolas," I sighed, knowing that it couldn't be him, but hoping, praying, that it was. I raised my head and he took my chin gently in his hands, it was Legolas!

Lifting me up, he entwined one arm around my waist; holding my chin gently with the other, tilting it up so that his lips met mine... He was back. He was back and he loved me!

Estel gradually opened his eyes and gazed up into mine. Legolas beamed across the bed at me as Estel gradually sat up, rubbing his head. "I'm so sorry for running away, Osellë, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to go near that stream, honest."

"Well, you're safe now, and your father is here."

"My father?" he enquired, puzzled, then a beatific smile dawned on his face, "My father!" Legolas leaned over and embraced his son, as Keldarion ran in and, after standing, gazing dumbly at Legolas, rushed up and threw his arms around him. "Ada," he laughed, clambering on the bed, hugging him and me in turn, I felt so happy, so happy that I was with my love once more.

It was dark. The boys were asleep in their shared room, and I was alone, alone with the one I loved, walking together through the forest, his arm around my waist, my head on his shoulder. Turning around, he kissed me, passionately, pulling me to him; he was my world, my all. Suddenly the sound of footsteps disturbed us, I looked up, startled, glancing past Legolas' shoulder to see Elrohir advancing towards me. "Osellë," he gasped, my name a cry of pain from his lips, cutting me deeply. Legolas released one arm from my waist, turning around to face him, and then opening his arms with a cry of joy. "Elrohir, my friend! I am so glad to see you after so long!" but Elrohir just stood there, gazing angrily at Legolas and at me.

"So you have what you want, you have Osellë," he said bitterly. "Look, the lady I love lies in your arms; you hold my heart in your embrace. You have stolen her, and you dare to call me your friend."

"Elrohir," I remonstrated, "I know that you love me, but I cannot love you. I have beside me all that I have ever wanted, ever needed. Please do not embitter this for me; please do not spoil my love with doubts. I do not want to hurt you, my brother, but would you deprive me of this happiness?" Legolas quickly turned to face me, a new light spreading across his face, "Do you really mean it?" he demanded excitedly. "Do you really mean that I am your all?" I nodded dumbly, my heart too full for words. He turned towards me, seizing my hands in his. "Then I must ask you something that has been burning on my tongue for years, something that I have wanted to say to you ever since – ever since I left you to fight. I haven't been sure of your returning my love until now." He knelt before me, sill holding my hands. "Osellë Atanvarne, daughter of Eldarestalo, I love you with all my heart, with all my soul, with all my mind and with all my strength! Will you marry me?"

"Yes!" and I fell into his arms, all the pain, all the grief of my past life banished in this perfect happiness and love.

At last I became aware of things other than him, at last I noticed Elrohir's distraught gaze, and his battle to regain control over himself. I ran over to him and hugged him quickly, "I am sorry, I am so sorry, but don't you see that we were never meant to be. Look around you, there are others who would die to posses you as their own, but I am not one of them."

He sighed bitterly, "Yes I know, and – and I wish you joy in your husband. May your life be long and full of love." Turing to Legolas, he held out his hand. "Let me be the first to congratulate you on this joyful occasion. You are not worthy of her, but then no one is, least of all I."

He turned slowly and made his way to the hall, where I saw a shape detach themselves from the shadows and go to meet him. I recognised it as Galadh. I looked at him as he turned to face her, and I knew that he already had the companion for him, he only needed to reach out and take her. Wrapping my arms around Legolas I smiled happily as he embraced me, pressing his lips against mine. At last, at last, after centuries of waiting I was going to be married to the person I loved best in the world.

"Turn around, let me see the back. Yes, that suits you perfectly; white certainly is your colour."

I smiled happily at my reflection in the mirror, glowing back. I could hardly recognise myself; I was positively radiant in the white – my skin actually had some colour in it! Arwen smiled at me as she tweaked the filmy fabric over my hips, but Aswen scowled, pouting pettishly and flaunting her raven locks which were certainly much longer than my poor crop, by no means recovered from its encounter with the thorn bush. Her sullenness rankled on my happy mood; happiness was such a new thing to me, I hated her for trying to mar it. "You don't like the dress?" I enquired lightly, giving it a gentle pull.

"No, I love your wedding dress," she retorted acidly, "I just don't like the person in it." I sighed bitterly. I had not seen her for ten years and now, two days after her return, we were already bickering. "Look, I know you don't like my marrying Vénea's husband, but there is no need to be mean about it. I am as upset as anyone about her untimely death, but life must go one, and I love him."

"And I loved her," she replied angrily, standing up suddenly so that spools of thread and bits of fabric rolled from her lap over the floor. "She is barely cold in her grave and he is marrying again, and marrying you. You, who purported to be her best friend, as soon as her back is turned, worked your wiles on her husband until he crawled to your feet. I noticed that you were shooting sheep's eyes at him even on their wedding day. And what were you doing three days after her funeral with her grieving husband in your bedchamber all night, eh?"

That was too much! Swinging my hand back I hit her sharply in the face, leaving a red handprint on her pale cheek. As quick as lightning she hit back, and soon we were having a proper brawl, tearing clothes and hair. My wedding dress was soon in tatters while Arwen vainly tried to intercede, until a stray blow sent her flying. "I'm pregnant you know," she yelled, obviously unhurt though shocked out of her usual dignity. We stopped in mid blow, staring dumbstruck at each other, "Pregnant?" we stammered in unison, releasing our hold on each others dresses and stepping back nervously from each other.

"Yes pregnant," she repeated, her voice rising almost to a sob, and then dropping to its normal level. "This was not the way I wanted to reveal it, I was rather hoping to tell my husband first, but there you go."

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door, and a musical voice enquired, "What on earth is going on in there? I never knew it took so much noise and effort to try on a wedding dress, it sounds like a full scale war at least!" I heard the door click as the latch was lifted, and the blue eyes of Legolas sparkled through the opening. We looked dumbstruck at each other; the state the room was in, the state Aswen and I were in – it wouldn't bear thinking about! Thinking quickly I threw myself against the slowly opening door, "Sorry, can't come in, love, its unlucky to see the bride in her dress before the wedding..." I heard a cry of pain from the other side and a glimpse of something rather cruel being done to a long, lovely and rather well known finger as I quickly slammed the door. I rushed to Arwen's side, thinking of aiming a sly kick at Aswen as I passed, but managing to quell the impulse. I had already ruined my wedding dress, had my short hair shortened even more by Aswen's strong hands, upset the Queen of Gondor who happened, to make things even worse, to be with child, and, to top it all off, trapped the finger of my beloved in the door. I gazed ruefully at Arwen, as she made Aswen and I hug each other somewhat unwillingly. She fell to rectifying the damage done to my bridal gown, giving me a harsh prick in the side with a needle when I dared to make some snide comment at Aswen, who was sewing up the rents in her own dress.

The rest of the day passed somewhat more peaceably. At long last the dress was finished and I had chance to kiss the poor trapped finger better, as well as receiving enough like endearments to cure all possible ailments for at least another hundred years.

"Mrargh," I groaned, and rolled over, burying my head under the pillows, hoping fervently that whoever it was would soon go away and leave me in peace, but they didn't. "It's not even light yet," I protested, as the sheets were pulled from me, and I was left cold and shivering,

"Dawn waits for no one," Galadh proclaimed brightly, as she lifted me protesting from my bed and dumped me rather unceremoniously in a bath of rather cold water. "Come, you will be married in an hour, and need to be got ready."

Thankfully my ordeal was soon over, and I was dried and dressed, passive as a mannequin, in my beautiful dress, my hair arranged in intricate braids and left to flow over the white silk of my dress, a black, though rather short, cascade of perfume. I smoothed the clinging material over my hips, tugging down the neckline and straightening my long, gold- lined sleeves. Turning this way and that I admired myself in the tiny mirror, frustrated that I could only see a small part of my reflection at any one time. But Arwen assured me that I looked beautiful as she tugged at the laces of my bodice, severely constricting my breathing – but I was too happy to care. Just as I was about to leave, I heard a gentle knock on the door, at a rather low level off the ground. Opening it quickly I saw Keldarion, uncomfortably attired in his best clothes, his unruly blond hair pulled into some semblance of order, and shifting nervously from foot to foot. He gasped in admiration as he saw me, and I felt my face grow hot. "Osellë, you look beautiful," he sighed; I playfully boxed his ear at his impertinence but blushed even redder. He continued, babbling rapidly so that his words tumbled over each other, "Father told me to call you... wanted to come himself but remembered his poor trapped finger," Keldarion looked at me wonderingly for a moment. "He wants you to wear this, not the heirloom of Mirkwood, but almost as good." He held out a silver necklace decorated with intricate knotwork, from which hung a single emerald, and a silver circlet, with an emerald pendant to hang over my brow. I bent down and he attempted to fasten the necklace and circlet with clumsy, trembling fingers. When he finally managed I kissed him lightly on the cheek, which he scowled at, although I could see he was secretly pleased. After adjusting the circlet in front of the mirror I suffered him to lead me to the front door, where I veiled my face. I was led, in a daze of happiness, through the dewy forest, still in the half-light of early dawn, but gradually illuminated by the first rays of the sun.

The wedding ceremony was a haze of bliss. I repeated my vows, conscious only of his presence beside me; he was so close. I was filled with anticipation, quivering with desire, and the knowledge that in a matter of minutes I would be his...

Soon I heard Tharundil utter the words, "You shall be joined in love, not two but one. One flesh, one blood, one soul. As long as love burns, let it bind you. May your love bind you for eternity." He joined our hands together, fingers interlaced, Legolas long, strong hand held firmly within mine, his thumb softly stroking mine, his pulse hammering. My parted, trembling lips whispered the final promise, begging Thranduil to hurry, to come to the end, for I felt that I could not control for much longer the overpowering longing that threatened to overcome me. Finally the closing words fell on my straining ears, "You are now joined as husband and wife, seal your love with a kiss." There was no need for this encouragement, within seconds I was clasped in Legolas' arms, his lovely lips pressed to mine, utterly surrendered to happiness.

I opened my eyes, gazing intently into his, he winked slightly, and I nodded my head. With one swift movement, he swept me off my feet, literally, and carried me in his arms. "Go get her," Aragorn called in a rather un-kingly manner, and Legolas smiled, as he conveyed me, blushing hotly, into the trees.

Three hours later, I was sitting at my husband's side (I could hardy believe that after so many years of waiting I was at last his,) while in front of us lay the spread of our wedding breakfast. Yet he and I could eat little – we spent too much time devouring each other with our eyes, our love was the only sustenance we needed. I whispered his name as another wave of love swept though me, this was rather worrying – it would be very enjoyably although rather impractical to spend all our time as we had spent the past hour. I was just thinking how nice it would be if I kissed his lips again, when my reverie was disturbed by two piping voices shortly followed by two rushing figures that could only be hobbits. "We came for the wedding, are we too late?" Merry and Pippin chorused, bowing clumsily to Thranduil and landing rather awkwardly in front of us. I beamed at them, offering my hand to Merry, which he kissed, and Pippin, which he shook rather strongly.

"Are we late?" Pippin enquired worriedly, and then, passing his eyes over the whole scene and my proximity to Legolas, nodded dumbly, answering his own question.

"I told you," Merry broke in, "I told you that Elves have the rather unsociable custom of marriage at dawn." He turned to me, an expression of such comical annoyance on his small, brown face that I could hardly stifle a laugh. "I told him that he would have to get up early but he refused to wake up, and he wanted his breakfast first."

"But I didn't get any," Pippin moaned, and I motioned him to a place on the table next to me. A couple of servants brought high stools that would allow the hobbits to reach the lofty table. Soon Merry and Pippin were devouring contentedly the rich food, Pippin especially demolishing the Elven-bread as if he had been starving all his life.

The twins appeared from nowhere; their smart new suits somewhat dishevelled, their unruly blond hair refusing to stay flat. Running up, they froze in their tracks, two identical puzzled frowns on their smooth brows. Pippin turned around, gazing intently at the two young Elves, "Hurrah, twins," he exclaimed, leaping off his stool and, after wiping a sticky hand on his breeches, held it out to each of the twins, who shook it tentatively, looking across at the brown, curly head that was so different from their sleek, blond ones – the forty year old hobbit the same height as the ten year old Elves. "Just like their father," he said mischievously pulling at their golden hair while the lads stood dumbstruck at him. "Never seen a hobbit then?" he asked jokingly as Estel sprung back to life, yanking the hobbit's chestnut curls in return, then dashing off, pulling his brother with him. Pippin rubbed his head, "Just like their mother," he sighed before he dashed after them.

Legolas half stood up, as if to join them, and then sat back down. "I am too old for this," he sighed, absentmindedly twirling a strand of his bright hair. "Oh no you're not," I rejoined, nudging him lightly, and he laughed, a young, silvery laugh that called an answering one from me. Soon we were overwhelmed by a fit of giggles and we clung weakly to each other, rubbing our aching sides, laughing until the tears ran down our cheeks. At last it ceased, and I noticed the puzzled, though happy glances from down the table, as well as one sad and scornful one. The scornful one was undoubtedly Aswen's and the sorrowful one, I was surprised to see, was Galadh. I walked down to her and hugged her, "What's wrong," I enquired solicitously, as a single tear dripped from under her lashes and trickled down her cheek." Nothing, nothing," she said, the crack in her voice betraying the lie. Then suddenly she burst out. "Why isn't he here? He found your children safe, the least you can do is invite him to your wedding."

I realised suddenly that she was missing Elrohir, and a glimmer of hope lit my heart as I realised that I could make some amends for my cruel treatment of him. "I asked him to come, but he said that it would drive him mad with jealousy if he saw me married, so he has gone away to see his brother in Rivendell." I realised, with a second tear that dripped warmly onto my hand that I had said the wrong thing, and, hugging her affectionately to make amends, I said." Doesn't mean that he won't love you. Patience pays off – I have my husband now after waiting many years for him. I'm sure that Elrohir will see that there are plenty more fish in the sea, eventually." I left before she could protest that she didn't love him, for I knew that she did.

The day passed in a haze of enjoyment, playing a rather precocious game of 'catch-up' with the hobbits, Aragorn, Arwen – and Gimli, who had turned up late as well. Both the hobbits were married, something that Aragorn found quite hilarious, "Well, of the nine of us, saving those that have died or gone to the Undying lands, we are all married men – apart from you Gimli" he laughed again. "I knew that I was going to be wedded form the start" he hugged his wife quickly, "and Samwise's was quite obvious, the way he spoke of that Rose. By the way, how is old Sam doing?"

"Famously. He is Lord Mayor, and with a large brood of delightful children, which is increasing rapidly," Merry interjected,

"But you, Legolas, confirmed bachelor for six thousand years and now married twice, well I never. And now the hobbits are married, it needs only Gimli!" Gimli turned his hairy face up to Aragorn, a face that looked rather bare without the helmet that he always wore, and in a voice of gruff sadness, said." No, someone out of us that are left must remain a bachelor. Don't you know that there are no dwarf women, and that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground?" I laughed, but my heart went out to that poor, gruff dwarf, who would never find love as I had found it, "By the way," Aragorn whispered elaborately, putting his mouth right up to my ear, "Gimli is actually in love, with Lady Galadriel!"

"What," I guffawed; I could hardly image anyone loving Aunt Galadriel, especially a dwarf. I was about to say so, when my comment was interrupted by the hasty arrival of Eldreth, Aswen's husband, who was a cousin of my Legolas. "Sorry to break up your merry gathering," he said, bowing at everyone save the dwarf, whom he glared at rather mistrustfully. "But the ground is ready and the music set for tonight's dancing, so if you will follow me," We followed him through the darkening wood to a large glade, glowing iridescently in the dark with numerous small, tinted lanterns that hung like garlands over the branches, bathing the glade with coloured light. A patch of short, soft grass had indeed been cleared for dancing, and on one side sat the minstrels practicing their tunes, their lutes, harps and flutes sending clear song into the cool, moonlit air. The glade was filled with the Elves of Mirkwood, paired off and waiting only for Legolas and me for the dancing to begin. He seized me by the hands and whirled me off. I had only time enough to call, "You said you were getting old," before I was fully immersed in the passion of the dance.

As the evening passed, the music slowed to a lilting, romantic melody that demanded close, tender dancing, the kind where you were pressed very near to your partner's body and were gazing intently into his eyes. As the last, long, lingering note faded into the starlit wood, and the gathered Elves began to disappear, my love and I walked slowly to our marriage bed.

Yet as I lay there in his arms, I heard, hardly audible on the fresh night breeze, a faint, tragic wail. _"Legolas, Legolas, why have you forsaken me?"_ it seemed to say. With a start I realised that that plaintive cry was Vénea's, the supplication of an unquiet grave.


	9. Paradise Lost

**Part Nine**

**Paradise Lost**

I was a fool to believe . . .  
A fool to believe. . .  
It all ends today. . .

Yes, it all ends today

Today's the day when dreaming ends

"**Fool To Believe" Moulin Rouge**

I sighed bitterly; this had not gone to plan. He was meant to be ecstatic at the news I had given him, but instead he was frowning, his handsome face twisted with an uncanny pain. Suddenly I grew angry; his utter lack of pleasure or excitement infuriated me."Aren't you glad that you are going to be a father then?" I demanded, stamping my feet rather roughly on the leafy ground. I flinched as my ankle caught in an unexpected hole causing a spasm of pain that in no way aided my temper. He stretched out his arms in supplication, but I ignored him, instead becoming intensely interested in a rather ordinary leaf that curled, green and spiralling from its slender stalk, trembling in the slight breeze. My eyes traced its fine veins, the delicate green, through which the light shone translucently. Tipping my head I flicked my gaze to study the underside, and then gasped as I noticed the creeping canker, like some vile army, ravishing the tender purity of the leaf, corrupting its life force. Quivering with revulsion I tore it off its stalk, hurling it ineffectually at him. My anger rose like an incoming tide and I reached out to grab the leaf next to the one I had just removed, convulsively breaking the frail stalks in my feverish hands. "Careful Osellë," Legolas exclaimed, "you'll kill it"

"That's the idea," I replied, my voice icy despite my wrath. "It will die anyway, as will everything on this damned earth – apart from us." Easily snapping a slender branch, I dropped it to the ground, trampling it into the dust. "I wish I was mortal, I wish I had died of old age or illness long before this, or had a hope that I could break free of this earth. I bet you wish that I had kicked the bucket, that she had lived and was still living with you?" I risked a glance up at him, my anger fading at his handsome face; his beautiful eyes full of sorrow and pain, a single tear etching a silver path down his high cheekbone. Sighing, my fury left me – yet I could not retract what I said. I still wished for death, for oblivion. But that non-existence would never be mine. I was an Elf, an immortal.

My self-control broke, and the tears rose unbidden to my eyes, falling unchecked down my face. He advanced to me, folding me in his arms, "Meleth-nin, my love," he whispered gently, stroking my raven hair. "As usual, you have taken the wrong end of the stick, you misconstrue my meaning entirely." He paused, and I felt a small sense of relief, perhaps he loved me after all. "I do love you," he continued," I would be proud and honoured to be the father of your child."

"Yes," I cut in, sarcastically, his tenderness not completely banishing the last tendrils of my ire. "Your ecstatic reaction to my news shows perfectly that you are overjoyed to be a father." He winced, my words cutting him; his arms clutched me convulsively, gripping my neck. "I reacted as I did, not because I don't love you or don't want the child, but because I'm afraid of what could happen to you. My mother suffered cruelly having me, Vénea died in childbirth. I do not want to lose you in the same way."

I pulled myself away from him, trying to stand up proudly, but failed miserably. My head started swimming, I swayed, and collapsed in a wave of nausea, my eyes flashing as I retched. Clutching hold of him, I tried to regain my dignity, "Thank you for your concern, meleth-nin, but if I can survive being mauled by Orcs, savaged by wargs, near drowning by that thing in the waters of Moria et cetera, than I can survive giving birth. It can't be so painful that I cannot endure it." I glared sharply at him, but his only answer was to burst out laughing, despite, or because of my murderous look.

"Osellë, Osellë, only you could pull off that dignified stance, when your beautiful hair is all over your face and your mouth is covered in vomit." He wiped my mouth, cooing as if I was a baby, and I collapsed into giggles, my previous anger forgotten. He swept me off my feet, kissing my now clean mouth, as I promptly threw up into his face. He dropped me pretty quickly and I landed with a bump on my feet, "Damned morning sickness," I muttered.

I rolled over with difficulty, my cramped limbs and large stomach making normal movement impossible. Sitting up clumsily, I felt a searing pain across my belly, and then another one. I stifled a scream as the agony became intense, thumping rather hard on the bedclothes in my suffering, only to hear another scream that certainly wasn't mine.

"Ow, that was my head," Legolas grumbled, endeavouring to punch me back.

"This is no time for messing," I snapped. "It's coming!"

"What?"

"The baby, you fool," I growled. Pain took the better of manners, as I kicked him rather roughly out the bed.

"A sorry, are you hurt? would be in order now, I think." he grumbled, but I was too much in pain to oblige.

He shook his head, and seeing the agony I'm sure was apparent on my twisted face, he quickly leapt off the ground and into his clothes, before dashing off to fetch the midwife. I smiled amidst my pain; he was so caring – or so eager to get out of the way before I could damage him again.

I endeavoured to make myself more comfortable as my waters broke, soaking the bed. Sighing, I gave myself up to the pangs of childbirth, only hoping they would soon be over.

I opened my eyes again, to find my feverish brow being gently sponged and my legs in a rather undignified position. The contractions were fiercer and more frequent now, the baby forcing itself out of me with excruciating pain. Screaming, I pushed hard, and at last it came, the bawling infant. I had brought life into the world and survived the ordeal.

Cradling my little girl in my arms, I gazed up at my husband sitting by my side, beaming with fatherly pride at the tiny creature we had given life to. "What shall we call her?" he enquired proudly, gently stroking her tiny cheek with a long finger. I smiled, I had already thought up a list of names – Ithildin perhaps, or Alcie after my mother, or even Tawariell, as she was a girl of the forest. I was just about to mention my choices when the infant in my arms opened her eyes, intensely blue, blue as sapphires or the sea. Legolas gasped, "Vénea, we shall call her Vénea,"

"Damn," I muttered. But it was too late, the name had stuck.

Vénea stirred and opened her deep blue eyes as I kissed her gently on the cheek. "Come yende-nin, we are leaving for Mirkwood. You will have to wake up now; we wouldn't want to leave without you." She groaned, brushing her long, dark hair from her face, burying her head into the pillow. "But mother," she muttered, "it's barely light."

"I know, I hate mornings too. But as usual your father has no time for indolence. Besides, he is eager to be back, he doesn't like leaving your brothers so long. You know what nuisances they are, they take after their parents so much."

I sighed, then shaking my head in mock despair, I pulled her out of the bed, and after making sure that she wouldn't crawl back into it again, left her to dress.

I walked quickly out the room and along the short, airy corridor to the hall where Legolas was waiting impatiently. "Is she up then?" he demanded. I nodded and sat beside him, as he wrapped his arms around me. "I am sorry I snapped," he whispered gently. "But I've been thinking of old times and dead friends, and such reveries tend to try my courtesy."

I nodded sadly, as he kissed me, pulling me closer to him. "We have lost Aragorn, the Hobbits. Gimli is ancient, Arwen is dead, the race of Elves is vanishing from this land. But there is light in this darkness. I have you, I will always have you, and I will always be happy." I nodded, kissing him back, little knowing how soon that his words would be proved a lie.

Much had changed in our two hundred years of marriage, other than the birth and growth of my daughter and the "maturing" of Keldarion and Estel. They were now incredibly handsome, but no less mischievous, youths. Elrohir had at last got over me, marrying Galadh and taking her with him to Rivendell. I still felt a little regret even now, despite the pain of his attachment, both to me and to him, it had been good for my vanity to have a scorned lover.

I had not seen Galadh these many years; they probably had gone into the West. Most of us Elves had gone, apart from those of Mirkwood and of Ithilien, where we now were. In Ithilien we'd founded a community of Elves; we spent most of our time here, working to remove the shadow of Mordor that had stretched over the land, making it again bright.

Aragorn had died a hundred years before, after having had a long and happy reign. He was well loved. The pain of his loss affected me greatly, but Legolas most of all. It is said that on his deathbed;

'A great beauty was revealed in him, so that all who after came there looked on him in wonder; for they saw that the grace of his youth, and the valour of his manhood, and the wisdom and majesty of his age were blended together. And long there he lay, an image of the Kings of Men in glory undimmed before the breaking of the world.'  
Lord of the Rings. Appendix A

Merry and Pippin had died and were buried close by him, in Rath Dinen among the great of Gondor. Arwen had lingered on for a short time. She had rejected immortality for her true love, at last dying in Lothlorien, where she was buried on Cerin Amroth where she and Aragorn had been betrothed. Their son Eldarion, with whom Arwen had been pregnant on my wedding day, and who had almost not survived Aswen's and my catfight, now ruled Gondor. He was no longer young, but shared the long lifespan of his father, who had lived to two hundred and ten. He too had sons who would rule after him. As for Aswen, she had disappeared with her husband Eldreth; I didn't think that she could bear my company. The fate of Vénea had been a constant gall between us.

I sighed, as a single tear trickled down my cheek. This was indeed the curse of the Eldar – eternal youth, while all friends grew old and died, while the world withered and only memories remained.

Legolas kissed away the tear and lifted me to my feet, as my daughter stumbled through the door, fastening her cloak about her white neck. I was proud of her, proud of her beauty and intelligence, she possessed the best of her father and I, as well as a wicked temper and strong loyalties. All in all she was a well-mannered and polite girl.

"Come on mother, father," she yelled, pulling me towards the door, "I thought you wanted to leave early, dragging me out of bed at night. And now I find you are not even ready. What have you been doing?" I shook my head hopelessly as the three of us made our way towards our waiting horses, Legolas keeping her back to have a quiet word. Well, she was polite and well mannered most of the time.

We mounted and rode towards Mirkwood, Legolas forcing a fast pace, as if he was anxious to be back. After a few days riding, we reached the eaves of Greenwood the great (as it was now known after the passing of the shadow) and for some reason, Legolas spurred his horse to a gallop. He disappeared ducking lithely between the swinging branches, as I followed him, trying to avoid the whiplash of sticks from his breakneck progress.

Soon we burst together into the glade where Thranduil's hall lay. Legolas, dismounting and flinging his reigns to a waiting groom, disappeared into the hall without a word. I dismounted also, waiting for my daughter to catch up. I sent her into the hall and was about to follow her when I heard a familiar voice, a voice that made me freeze in my tracks, turning my blood to ice. It was a voice that I had not heard for two hundred years, a voice that should have been sealed in the grave. Surely I was dreaming. It couldn't be that this ghost had come to haunt me. "Vénea," I mouthed, barely able to pronounce the name as she came bursting into view, as lively and vibrant as ever, her dark hair glinting red in the sun, her slender arms open to receive me, a charming smile beautifying her face. She embraced me, but I couldn't move, couldn't speak, my best friend, my worst rival, had come back from the dead.

She was soon gone, dashing into the hall, but I remained dumbstruck, my brain unable to believe what my eyes and ears had told me. Suddenly it hit me, sledgehammering me to the ground with its weight. _She was his wife! _She loved him. My brief moment of happiness that I had been longing for almost all my life had been shattered by one swift blow.

I flung myself on a chair, my brain swimming, trying desperately to decide what I should do, what Legolas would do. The canker had infected our love, just as it had that leaf long before. I could only watch, and hope that her coming didn't blast irretrievably our devotion.

I could only hope, but soon even my hope, the hope of a wife toward her husband, the total trust in his innocence against all outside 'proofs' of his guilt – even that failed.

As I walked through the forest, looking for Legolas, since I had not seen him in hours, I heard a rustle deep in the undergrowth and caught a glimpse of golden hair. "Legolas," I said, smiling. But my smile quickly faded as I realised that he was not alone, there was black mingled with his golden locks. He was standing with Vénea in his arms, her lips only a hairsbreadth from his.

I screamed, a long wordless cry of pain, misery and anger, as I turned, dashing blindly along the path that I had just come, utterly numb, my heart tearing in two within my breast. I was in shock, hardly able to believe what my eyes had seen, hardly able to believe that he had betrayed me. It was only when I had flung myself onto the bed, unable even to cry, such was the magnitude of the blow – that it dawned on me. The one stability of my life had been knocked away. I was without friend, without prop, lost in the doom of rejection, betrayal and loneliness – and she, my best friend, had done this to me.

I rushed over to the chest and began stuffing my belongings into a bag. I couldn't stay to watch my marriage, the happiness that I had worked so long to build, crumble and fall about my ears. I couldn't stay to have my love betrayed, to have my heart torn in two and the bleeding pieces impaled on the trees of Mirkwood as a warning of what happens to those who build all their love and faith on one person, as I had done – and who find their trust betrayed.

Soon though, the wild desperation retreated, and I regretted my hasty action. I was overreacting somewhat. She had only kissed him quickly; a brief kiss is quite understandable if you are meeting someone for the first time in two hundred years – especially if that person happened to be your late wife who had just risen from the dead. I sighed, wearily, and began to bring order to the chaos that my hasty packing had made, resolved to observe the situation and find absolute proof before I did anything rash. Surely he loved me enough to be faithful, I was too jealous by half.

I made my way downstairs, determined to play the affable hostess to my long lost friend. Yet my resolve was tried the next moment as Legolas walked in, his arm about Vénea's waist. He noticed the pain on my face and quickly released it, kissing me apologetically, yet his kiss could not remove the disquiet I felt.

My anxiety grew through the evening, fuelled by nods and signs shared between the two that spoke of something other than friendship. She related, somewhat sketchily, her time in the Halls of Waiting, out of which Mandos had thrown her out after her constant nagging to see her husband and sons. Legolas laughed, commenting that her ability to pester could try even the patience of a god, yet I could see that he was flattered by her love for him, which had brought her back from the dead.

I found myself gradually more and more excluded from the dinner conversation, more and more galled by the change that Vénea wrought on all around her. All eyes but mine and my daughter were constantly on her face, her sons hanging on her every word, laughing and joking with an easy, unconstrained warmth that they had never shown towards me. However much I had cherished and cared for them, they had never behaved like this to me – they held me in awe, and had been reserved in my presence, almost if they though that I would punish them – Oh Ilúvatur, I was too protective, too careful of their welfare for them to ever really regard me as a friend.

My daughter was the only one who sympathised with me; she was cool and aloof from her namesake's advances, almost as if she sensed the growing dislike inside my heart. I pretended to be glad at Vénea's return, but I was not – she had come between me and everything I loved, and was gradually eclipsing me with her talk and her vivacity.

I hoped that their reaction was only due to the novelty of her presence: that things would return to the old ways, but, as the days progressed, Legolas became more and more entranced by her vibrancy, vitality and mischievous ways. He seemed only to talk of their brief ten years of marriage, and was diffident and almost withdrawn in his manner towards me; as if unsure whether I was indeed his rightful wife now that his first one had come back on the scene.

I grinned and bore it as much as I possibly could, but I could not endure much more of the pain and jealousy that her presence gave to me, the well of suffering within me filled to overflowing.

I walked again through the woods, again searching for Legolas, determined to confront him on our changed relationship, yet my search had so far been fruitless. I was just about to turn for home when I heard his voice coming from behind a rather large and venerable oak. I moved towards him, unnoticed due to the silence of my tread, and was about to reveal myself, when the musical tones of Vénea stopped me in my tracks. "What shall we do about Osellë?" she whispered, and Legolas leaned closer, his voice full of restrained passion, "I know not, all I know is that..." the sound of kissing cut off his last words, and I edged closer to see them entwined in each others arms! Suddenly the dam burst, all gratitude or love I had once felt for her was swept away by the full force of her treachery. I had welcomed her into my house and she had betrayed me, she had stolen my husband, she had snatched away all my happiness and now held my beating heart in her cruel grasp. I again turned and ran for my bedroom, again frantically packing my belongings, but this time I was not overreacting, I was determined now to leave for good.

As I gave a last look around my bedchamber my eyes passed over the dresser, and stopped, for there was something on it that reflected the sun's dying rays. I stepped over to get a closer look and my eyes rested on my dagger, who's short but vicious blade caught and scattered the light, so that it appeared red with blood. The sight of it pulled a blind from my eyes, making me see with clarity as sharp as the knife-edge, the cause of all my suffering – Vénea.

With dawning realisation came a growing hate – I despised her more than I had ever hated Sauron. He had only threatened my life while she had shattered something much greater, my love. She had stolen his heart, destroyed our bliss. She had come back to life to ruin mine, and I would make her pay!

I grabbed the dagger, not heeding as the sharp blade cut into my hand, feeling only a wild, burning rage. I crashed out the door and dashed up the stars to her room, the one thought in my boiling mind – to make her feel the same anguish that she had caused me.

My right hand, trembling with rage, grasped the latch, flinging the door open and slamming it behind me so hard that the frame shook.

Vénea leapt round, staring at me, first with shock, then relief, then her blue eyes widened with fear and disbelief at the knife that I held levelled at her chest. I advanced forward, threateningly, as she backed away from me, her retreat soon stopped by the wall. She held up her trembling hands over her face, as the sharp point of the dagger made a dint in her grey dress, just above her heart.

"What is it?" she gasped, and I exploded, my fragile self-control shattered completely.

"What is it? What is it? Is it nothing that you have stolen my husband from me? Is it nothing that you have broken my heart; that you ruin my life after all I have done for you?"

"I only kissed him, for heavens sake. From the way you're going on, one would think I had slept with him at least." I slapped her across the face, savouring the angry red handprint on her white cheek. She winced, but I only laughed – part of me quite frightened at the insane, almost demonic quality of it.

"Have you lost your wits?" she choked and I repeated my fiendish chuckle.

"Yes, I suppose I have." My hands reached for her white throat, batting away her pathetic defence, and wrapped themselves around it. I tightened my grip and she gasped for breath, her pale face turning red, then purple. I gradually relaxed my hold, allowing her to breath; I didn't want to kill her just yet. She collapsed against the wall, clawing my hands still about her neck. I laughed again, ecstatically aware of her pain. "And yours is the delightful knowledge that you have driven me to it. I am going to give you a small taste of the misery that your dallying with my husband has caused me – and as you are only human, that misery will kill you."

I removed my hands from her throat, making her sigh somewhat with relief, but the dagger pressed against her neck quickly brought back her anxiety. She writhed in terror as I pressed the knife closer to her throat. "Careful," I hissed, "it would be better if you remained perfectly still; you wouldn't want to hasten your death by wriggling around, would you?"

Normally I would have baulked at this act of cruelty, to torture even my worst enemy would have been disgusting to me; but seeing her in his arms had broken something in me – destroying my compassion and giving me an animal rage. And now I was going to kill her.

Suddenly the door banged open, breaking my concentration. I turned to see Legolas, who stood framed in the shaking doorway. His eyes flashed with righteous indignation, suffusing through his handsome face, his mouth compressed tightly into an angry line. Oh Ilúvatur, he looked so terrifying, I would hate to be the person that that wrath was aimed against – and then I realised with a start, that I was.

I froze, petrified by his glare, as he leapt towards us with the agility of a cat, dashing my hand away from her throat, and the dagger sailed through the air, to clatter to the ground near the door.

I screamed in rage and pain, making to throw myself on her with tooth and nail, but something in my eyes made me stop, rooting me to the spot. Instead I snarled at him. "Thank you," I said, my voice icy cold and dripping with sarcasm. "Thank you very much for showing how much I mean to you. I thought you loved me, but it seems that you do not. I see you have found your heart's desire, and I am happy for you." I paused, my heart melting at the look of pain in his eyes; my words were cutting him to the quick the righteous indignation faded from them, to be replaced by - pity, sorrow, for the wild animal he had seen me become. My anger left me and I longed to put my arms around him, but damned pride, and an awful sense of gnawing guilt, got in the way. I had to keep up appearances; I had to justify my actions – lest he lost all faith in me. "No matter that you have broken my heart. I see that you have no need for me, so I will convenience you by leaving your lives for good."

I shot him the full fiery defiance of my glare – all that remained of the bestial hate that now left me broken and shaking. He was so achingly handsome that I wanted to fling myself at his feet, to beg for forgiveness and to throw myself on his mercy. But instead I turned my back with icy dignity, walking haughtily towards the door. "Osellë," he sobbed, his voice full of pain, longing and regret, yet I continued on, shutting the door behind me with enforced carefulness, praying that he would call me back. I had already wrenched my heart out by walking away, one word from him would have me at his feet – but that word did not come.

Abandoning all dignity, I launched into a headlong rush down the corridor that almost ended in a pageboy having his brains dashed out on the flagstones below, but I continued on. I reached the main gate and burst out in to the joyous sunshine that made a foul mockery of my mood. Resting my hands on my knees, I stood there panting, letting the tears fall unchecked down my cheeks.

I waited there for ages – his last look imprinted on my minds eye. There was love in that gaze – surely he would follow me. I waited there for ages, but he did not. Of course he wouldn't follow me; I had just tried to murder someone. I must have been dreaming to think there was love, or even pity in his voice. He did not love me; he loved her, and no wonder. How could he love me when I so despised myself?


	10. A short drop and a sudden stop

**Part Ten**

**A Short drop – and a Sudden Stop**

"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,  
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
To the last syllable of recorded time;  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!  
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing." **  
From Macbeth (V, v, 19) by William Shakespeare**

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.

Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

(_I hate and love. You ask perhaps how this can be._

_I know not, but I feel it, and 'tis agony_.)

**C. Valerius Cattullus, 85, Torment**

I slumped against a tree trunk; head in my hands, letting the slow trickle of tears fall unchecked through my fingers. I was crushed absolutely – all pride, all self-respect, gone. I had tried to kill someone, to end someone's life in cold blood. I still saw the bead of blood on her pale throat, my harsh demonic laughter still ringing in my ears.

He did not love me. He couldn't love me after what I had done – or almost done. I had tried to kill someone, to murder the woman he loved because I was jealous. I was Atanvarne, 'defender of men' yet I had just dishonoured my name, my husband; I did not deserve to live. I could go back and hand myself in, or I could take justice into my own hands.

My hand fluttered to the girdle about my waist, hastily untying it. I gazed at it blankly for a moment, hardly believing the terrible thoughts that filled my head. Letting it drop, I stared blankly at it as it lay on the leafy ground. There was no way that I would find the oblivion I longed for. My earthly body may rot, but my spirit – my mind and memory, would live on. I would not find forgetfulness, only Mandos' Halls and the Undying Lands, where my pain would be with me for eternity.

I retrieved the girdle, twisting it around my hand, tugging on it involuntarily, as if to test its strength. No, I would not find oblivion in death – but I would find rest.

My fingers were deft now; my twisting for a purpose as I quickly scaled a neighbouring oak – the same one, I noticed bitterly, under which I had first seen Legolas and Vénea embrace. I knotted the rope around a branch so that it hung about six feet from the ground. Taking the other end, I tied it in a running noose, and then let it drop. I jumped down after it, and stood under the rope- a head above me. I rolled up a tree stump and positioned it under the rope, stepping on it, making sure that it was sturdy, yet could be kicked away easily.

I placed my head in the noose, tightening the slipknot around my neck. I would hang myself – and they would see my body swinging from the tree and know that justice had been done.

Taking a deep breath, I kicked away the log, screaming as the girdle jerked on my neck, stopping my fall. My neck did not break. Mine would be the long, slow dance of death; twirling and dangling on the end of a rope as my life was slowly choked out of me. My limbs writhed as I fought for breath, longing suddenly and desperately to be free – to live, but it was too late. Soon blackness closed over me and I knew no more.

I was falling, falling, through space, falling from death – hitting the ground with a thump that jarred my bones.

I opened my heavy eyes, gazing into nothingness. Is this what Mandos' Halls are like? Black – a solid black curtain, streaked with daylight, obscuring vision, stopping breath. I stretched out a heavy hand and touched the darkness. It was dense, soft and smooth, like hair – than it slowly dawned in my fuddled brain that it was.

"Mother?" a voice pierced my dull consciousness and I raised my aching head to discover its source.

"Mother." the voice came again and my brain painfully registered that it was my daughter bending over me, stroking my hair, cradling my aching head on her lap.

I gazed weakly into her troubled blue eyes, part of my mind thinking how weird it was to be looked down on by her. Suddenly, full awareness ambushed me, and like a hunter, sent the shafts of memory to pierce my breast. I cried aloud, clawing at my throat, expecting to feel the cruel bite of the rope, but it was free. I calmed down, "I'm not dead then?" I queried, knowing full well the answer, but dreading it all the same.

"No, thank the Valar," she exclaimed fervently, raising me up to a sitting position, moistening my parched lips. "Who did this to you?" she demanded, fists clenched, eyes blazing, "Who tried to hang you, and would have succeeded if I had not cut you down?"

"I myself," I sighed, and she stared at me, aghast, hardly believing what I had just said.

"What," she gasped incredulously, and I repeated my former statement. Belief, horror and pain quickly passed across her face like clouds, as the silent tears started to her eyes. "Why, mother, why?" she moaned, as I smiled wanly, reaching out to stroke her tear-stained cheek. "You are young, you have never been in love – you would not understand my motives. Suffice it to say that I was weary of life and wished to end it."

She stiffened, drawing herself away from me, a spasm of pain wracking her slender body. I tried to move towards her, to wrap my arms around her, but she repelled me, striking blindly at my outstretched hand. "So you would leave me," she burst out, her voice full of pain, of the sense of betrayal. "So you would abandon me, you would abandon father, you would..."

"No, my child," I entreated, "I would not abandon you. But I cannot take you with me and I cannot stay here – I am not welcome anymore."

She looked at me curiously, then realisation dawned in her blue eyes, and hate. "It's _her_ – the other Vénea," she burst out, her musical voice disfigured by loathing, "You were happy until she came. I have seen the way he looks at her. The way she has insinuated herself between you and father, the way he hangs on her every word. She has bewitched him. She has ruined our lives."

I nodded dumbly, not trusting myself to speak. My daughter had hit the nail on the head and I would have to make sure that she didn't take matters into her own hands.

Vénea clenched her fists, snarling, "I'll show father what she really is, I'll make her pay for what she has done to you."

"No you won't." I interrupted, my voice silencing her immediately, "It is not worth it, I have tried – and failed."

"You tried?"

"I tried to kill her – only he stopped me. That's why I tried to kill myself – and failed again."

"What shall we do then? You can't just leave it. We must get him back, we must make father realise he loves you, I must..."

"You will go back home and try to get on with life – I want you to look after him, he will need you. Let him be surrounded by Vénea's, Osellë has no place anymore." I sighed again, appalled at my own bitterness.

"And you?"

"I will leave. I will look for my kinsman, Elrohir, and his wife Galadh, who I've not seen in years, they should be in Rivendell. Then I will go to the Undying Lands, the long slow way, as you have prevented me from taking a shortcut."

She gasped, bowing her head, as I stood up stiffly, brushing dirt and leaves off my dress, more out of habit than a desire to be clean. I helped her up and held her close, as if she had been a baby and not the bewitching she-elf that she had become. I cupped her head in my hands, kissing her burning brow." Chin up," I said, trying to make my voice bright and encouraging but failing miserably. "You must try to be happy. You have many years ahead of you – live them to the full. Don't grieve for me – I have had my joy. I was not born for happiness; mine was a melancholy star, yet I have snatched my ecstasy despite it. I have my memories to treasure – many have not even those."

I hugged her again, burying my face in her hair, the effort of putting on a brave face while my heart was again breaking within me, almost more than I could bear. We clung to each other as if nothing could ever part us, yet I managed to push her away, pressing into her hands the brooch, Legolas' birthstone, that I had always worn. I had no need of it now, it should be returned to her father now that his love for me was over.

"Return this to him, with my love." She nodded dumbly, too grieved for words. Taking the necklace, the one given me on my wedding day and that I had always worn, I unfastened it, clasping it around her neck, then turning her around, I gave her a slight push on the shoulders to send her on her way. "Wanya, yende-nin. Belain na le," _(Go, my daughter, the Valar be with you,) _I called after her, and then I turned, back into the darkness where the remainder of my existence would be spent.

I waited, hiding behind a tree, watching her slowly departing form – worry and confusion etched into every line of her slender back, her slow and stumbling stride.

Soon she vanished into the trees, and when I was sure she was out of earshot I let out in one shaking, curdling, wordless scream all the boiling rage and pain that had been burning within me. I stopped to catch my breath as the animal rage swept through me – blanking out all my thoughts, all my finer feelings, leaving only raw pain. I screamed again, falling to my knees, throwing back my head as a cloud of startled birds rose, flapping and cawing, from the undergrowth around me.

"This is pointless," I yelled, once the surging waters of my head had calmed somewhat. "Screaming will get me nowhere – I need action."

"But what can you do? What action can you take? You cannot make him love you. He is lost to you."

The whole forest echoed this mockery. Every tree, every plant, said the same thing. Even the blackbird in its flute-like tones seemed to sing, "He doesn't love you. He doesn't love you."

I forced my hands over my pointed ears, pressing hard to block out their taunting words. But every line of every twig still taunted my loneliness, my abandonment. Everything there was in pairs, every bird, every tree, every leaf had its partner. I was the only thing alone.

I screwed up my eyes, the world spinning around me, trying to block out the foul mockery of my diseased mind, trying to hold onto the last shreds of my fast vanishing sanity. I collapsed to my knees, burying my head in the leafy ground. I lifted my head up and slammed it down again and again on the ground, relishing the pain that dulled the intense, roaring agony of my shattered heart. At last the pain became too great and I ceased slamming my head against the branch, reeling drunkenly to my feet. The ringing in my ears gradually faded, only to be replaced by the words, "He does not love you, he does not love you." The voice seemed to come not from my surroundings, but from deep inside my fevered mind. My head burning, my heart an empty hole, I felt my last grip on sanity loosen and I took to my heels, all self control thrown to the winds, raving live a lunatic and dashing blindly (I still had my eyes closed) deeper into the wood.

Branches tore at my hair and garments, thorns dragged at my skin, yet I ran on. I was oblivious to pain, to the state of my clothes, to where I was going; only the wind's cruel ridicule echoing in my ears. "He does not love you. He does not love you." Nothing else mattered...That is until I ran a step too far, tripped over something and fell headlong – opening my eyes to see the ground and rushing towards me. I put out my hands, endeavouring to stumble to my feet – but gave up, but instead let myself fall to the ground in a paroxysm of tears.

At last the tears stopped, and I sat up, wiping my eyes, my breath coming in gasping sobs. My tears had cleared my temporary madness, leaving my mind, cold, broken, but icily sane. I gazed ahead of me, dashing the moisture from my eyes as they slowly focused on the tall tree in front of my nose. The bark was rough, brown and uneven, scarred with lighter brown. I reached out to touch it, running my fingers along the ridges in its surface as a thought slowly dawned in my stupefied brain. I dismissed it, horror stricken, but it came back, refusing to be banished. I couldn't live like this. I couldn't live without him. I couldn't live with his displeasure. I had to end it, to end my existence as well as I could.

I placed my hands tentatively on the branches nearest me, and then took a firmer grip onto them. I hauled myself into the tree, pausing to rest on the lower limbs, my arms aching from the unaccustomed strain. I looked up, at the tall, straight trunk with its lattice of branches, its canopy of leaves, stretching far above me. Gasping at the sheer height above, I continued my ascent; my eyes fixed on the trunk before me, feeling the free air caress my cheeks. I was filled with a strange sense of freedom, of liberation, as I climbed higher and higher, it was strangely bizarre yet quite refreshing after my devastation. I had never been so high, so far above the earth and its petty troubles, my problems seemed insignificant in this wide expanse of space.

I stood up on the highest branch that could bear my small weight, throwing wide my arms, balancing precariously on my slender perch, yet I felt no sense of danger. "Legolas" I called, elation soaring through me, banishing hate, pain, leaving only an infinite love. For I saw him in front of me, floating in mid air, beckoning to be with a slender hand, a jubilant smile playing across his face, his hair shining gold in the last red rays of the setting sun. I stretched out my hands. I could almost reach him, almost touch his hands. Only one step further...

Suddenly I was falling, the air rushing past me, my eyes gazing up into the deep blue. This was it, I was going to die.

**CRASH! **I lay winded, but definitely alive, draped across the shuddering branch that had broken my fall. I had failed again. I couldn't even kill myself without failing miserably. I opened my eyes, wriggling my limbs to check for breakages, holding on to my precarious perch for dear life. As soon as I saw that no bones were broken, I began to feel the futility of my action. What was the point in being unhurt when I was going to throw myself off this branch anyway, to continue my fall?

I rolled over, uncomfortably, precariously stumbling to my feet, lurching on my haphazard perch.

I managed to grasp hold of the branch above me as I risked a nervous glance down, and jerked my head up quickly, wishing fervently that I had not. I gulped, my head swimming, my heart pounding erratically against my bruised ribcage. My instincts of self-preservation were certainly very much alive and well – even if I myself did not particularly desire to be; and with them an overpowering desire to be on the ground. "Ha" I laughed sardonically, "That can be quickly arranged. I came up here to arrive back on terra firma double-quick – and preferably unable to climb trees again."

I let go of my handhold, suppressing my screaming instincts, and wobbled dangerously, but managed to right myself. I wanted to jump, not fall. I had tried falling to my death last time and had only succeeded in plunging a few feet.

Standing as straight as I could, I sauntered lightly to the end of the branch, feeling it shake madly up and down as I moved – and stopped, the rebound almost sending me flying off. I had heard a harsh, guttural voice coming from far below, undoubtedly human and pronouncing two words that made my hair stand on end – Elf, and death.

I tried to carefully lower myself to a crouch, but failed miserably, instead throwing myself down and clinging ferociously as the branch danced wildly, making sinister creaking noises.

"Wassat?" a stilted whisper came from someone below that had certainly not been taught how to practice correct elocution. I froze, praying that they would not see me.

"Nofin –prob'ly a squirrel," was the equally illiterate reply, but expressed by the sort menacing voice that you would have to be very brave or very stupid to risk correcting its pronunciation.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I crept down the tree like a cat in the darkness, until I was just above their heads. I gasped – silently of course, at the large number of men gathered under the tree. I could make out in the dim light at least a hundred, crouched together under the canopy of the darkening forest, firelight glinting dully off swords and armour – they were certainly a war band and they certainly meant business.

The tree creaked as someone leant against it, I could smell the hot reek of his breath, of bodies that had not seen water for a long time – combined with another scent, of rage and fear.

"You listenin'?" and the crowd gathered around the man and the tree, eager to hear what he would say.

"Why are we here?" he bellowed, and instantly the crowd replied,

"Kill the Elves, kill the Elves!" He held up a hand for silence, and they instantly hushed, waiting eagerly for him to begin. His voice, though rough, held a certain charisma, a certain charm, combined with a force of delivery that would make him almost irresistible to the poor peasant farmers as this gathering seemed to be made of.

All seemed to be enthralled by the force of his delivery save a few at the back, who obviously possessed a few more brain cells than the others. There was some guttural muttering and then one of them piped up, "What 'ave those blasted Elves don' to us anyway?"

The leader stared them down so that they quailed before him, then he burst out.

"What 'ave they done?" the leader exploded, and the others quailed before this outburst. "What 'ave they done?" He bawled again, "They're sorcerers, wizards. They steal our land. They bewitch our women with their damned beauty and inveigling ways. Can anyone be that beautiful without some witchcraft?" There were murmurs of assent from the men around, who, from the look of them, would have self respecting women leave them for the most ordinary of men.

"Have you heard them, their wild incantations and strange rituals? They curse the weather, our farmland; they cause the droughts that have blighted our land for years, they horde gold and precious jewels while we starve!" I gulped, as the men roared their assents, drumming sword on shield, obviously fired by the man's words. I was scared by their harsh words, worried at the anger against us Elves, who were a diminishing race anyway. I laughed it off though, secretly like as I did not wish to be heard – these men weren't bright enough to find an Orc in Mordor, let alone the hidden realm of the Elves, crafted for centuries to be elusive to all but the knowing eye. How could they find Thranduil's court when only those who have been there before can discover it?

I smiled again, settling myself to wait until they went away – there would be no threat from them. They settled down around the fire, whispering plans of invasion and attack, as I shut my eyes and gradually let my mind wander...

I snapped awake, hearing a twig crack on the edge of the clearing, some way away. I peered into the gloom, seeing a shape moving in the shadows, edging slowly towards the men with a lightness of step that could only be Elven. The figure moved nearer to the fire, almost invisible in the shadowy night. I watched as the Elf fitted arrow to bow, aiming at the chief who stood clearly illuminated by the firelight. Obviously she too had overheard their talk and wished to prevent their foul aim. She drew back the bowstring, and as the arrow sped towards its target I recognised the she-elf, Aswen.

The arrow sped through the air and quivered to a halt, embedding itself in the tree just above the chief's head. He jumped back, slamming into my tree. Suddenly the air was filled with a horrible creaking sound, I screamed, clawing the air as the branch broke and I was thrown headlong on to the ground.

I leapt to my feet, seizing a branch from the ground, swinging it at the first one to snap out of the momentary shock which my sudden appearance had plunged them in. He screamed in pain, bowling back in to the man behind him, as I swung the branch to knock down the next one. They paused and I had a chance to look around me, shuddering inwardly at the circle of savages that surrounded me. I would never be able to beat them.

The leader drew his sword, a horrible leer on his cruel, bearded face. "What a pretty piece, eh, I didn't know such beautiful birds lived in these trees. Shame we'll have to pluck this one." He advanced toward me and I swung the stick, yelling, "But this bird has claws, and she doesn't take kindly to having her plumage removed." Yet, despite my defiance, I felt my courage fail. This man I could beat with proper weapons, but I was armed only with a stick that showed distinctive signs of breaking, and there were at least fifty others to finish me off if he failed.

"_Help me, help me?" _I sent the silent plea into the night, as I punched my wooden weapon into another lewd face, where it shattered into fragments, leaving me caught, defenceless in an army of lecherous barbarians.

I screamed as I felt rough hands claw at my body, and I kicked out, my foot meeting air. I stumbled and fell, hitting my head hard against a tree root.

The next thing I knew I was seized roughly from the ground, trussed up with ropes, a filthy rag forced in my mouth. The chief shoved his face close to mine; his hot breath reeking, his face disfigured by many lacerations, half his ear was missing and a particularly nasty scar fixed his thin-lipped mouth into a permanent sneer.

"What have we got here then?" he leered, as I drew back, the stench of his breath overpowering. "An Elf, eh, and a pretty one at that," the others cackled lewdly. "Shame we'll have to kill her."

"Do we have to?" a couple of them whined, "Can't we have some fun with her first?" I struggled, despite my fettered arms; I kneed the chief in the groin, and he bent double in agony. Finding myself momentarily at liberty I spat the rag out of my mouth, stretching and straining my hands to free them, but all the knots held good. Suddenly I saw a shape detach itself from the shadows and come running towards me, _"Aswen" _I screamed inwardly_, "Stay back, don't get caught too," _She seemed to hear, and melted back into the darkness, just as the chief recovered and I was seized again.

"So you thought to escape then, Elf" he spat the word out as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. "Sorry, but you won't get away that easily." He slapped me across the face, but I didn't flinch, instead shooting him a glance of such impervious dignity and scorn that he quailed under it. "You don't intimidate me with your stares, princess" he scowled, throwing me roughly to the ground, two men pinioning me down as he leered above me. "I am going to kill you, don't doubt that. But first me 'n me men are going to use you as you've never been used before. I've heard Elves have prodigious powers of endurance, all the more fun for us, eh" he nudged the men beside him, who advanced towards me, lust in his bleary eyes. This was it, I was going to be raped and then murdered. I had wanted death, but not such a shameful one. I gritted my teeth, determined to bear what ever they would do to me bravely, without screaming. I was a princess, a High Elf, and I would die like one.

And yet, maybe there was a chance I could elude death, but could I risk it, would they fall for it? As the first man advanced towards me, I blurted out, "I know where to find the Elves of Mirkwood." The chief seized me by the arm and pulled me roughly up. "So you're going to turn traitor? You're going to betray your people to save your own skin?" I nodded dumbly, trying furiously to compose my raging face into a semblance of abject terror, to lid my blazing eyes.

I winced as Aswen yelled inside my head, her scornful voice ringing in my ears, "_Traitor. You are going to betray your husband, your father in law, to save yourself. Is that how much you love him, and her memory?_"

"_No_" I called back, just managing to prevent my words being expressed audibly. "_I would save my own skin, but not at the price of him whom I love. I will lead them on a wild goose chase to the seven oaks. You will warn Thranduil, and the Elves will attack them." _

_"I hate you, but you are an Elf, and I can't leave you alone to face such danger. I would never forgive myself if I left you to be killed by your own idiocy." _

"You're the idiot," I yelled, forgetting in my anger that this conversation was meant to be telepathic. The men around me jumped and I smiled weakly, continuing silently, "_Two against fifty, what wonderful odds. The Elves would surely sing about our impossible battle_,_ only they would never find out because we wouldn't live to tell the tale – and if these fools find them, neither will they. I can handle this, trust me, go find the Elves and warn them, and leave me to cope with these men."_

Her voiceless assent calmed my fears as she darted off into the gloom; and I was able to put all my efforts into enough abject terror to convince the chief of my sincerity. I cringed before him, forcing down the nausea that threatened to overwhelm me. This fawning sickened me, but he seemed to take to it, falling into my trap as easily as a fly into a spider's web. Soon I was leading them off into the forest, dangling on a rope tied to the chief's wrist so that I wouldn't bolt, while the whole hundred scuttled behind me, torches blazing against the black night.

"We'll stop and wait 'til day." the chief commanded, a hint of fear at the pitch dark and weird night noises evident behind his bravado. "No sir," I replied trying to make my voice deferential, "I can see as well by night as by day. It would be better to attack as soon as possible, so that there is no chance of them being warned." He nodded at the sense of my words – I could feel his eyes constantly upon me and knew that I had bewitched him. I would use the dark to get them hopelessly lost, and then get him to release me.

Tossing my head so that the long silk of my hair brushed past his cheek, I took him tenderly by the hand, forcing down my distaste at the knotted, scarred, callused and filthy state of it, so different to that of an Elf, and pulled him along gently. He shivered with lust, and I tried to hide my revulsion as I draped myself across him, whispering my words of enchantment into his hairy ear, leading him and his men off into the night.

The night slowly dragged in a slow, dismal slog, full of the whistles of lecherous men and the cruel hands of those not content only to whistle. Soon after midnight, the heavy, dense air gave way to torrential rain that pierced through the thick canopy of leaves as a strong drizzle. I knocked against a tree, to be drenched by an icy torrent of collected water, trickling insidiously down my neck and soaking me completely. I shivered, not from the cold, but the hot breath of the chief, as he leaned closer to roughly brush the water from my shoulders, imprinting a slobbery kiss on the nape of my neck. The hours dragged as the man drew closer and closer to me, entwining his burly arms around my waist. "_Legolas, Legolas,_" I whispered, _"please give me the strength to bear this for you._" Give me courage to bear the endless monotony of this night. The shadowy forms of the trees offered no comfort, to them, to everyone but myself I was a traitor. I was caught in this dank, miserable hell – the heavy tramp of feet in the claggy soil, the wearisome drip of raindrops, the whining complaints of the men only increasing the tedium of it all.

When I was about to despair of an ending to this hellish night, the first glimmerings of dawn pierced the opaque shadows of Mirkwood. I was still in the thrall of the chief of those foul men, still bound to his filthy wrist, still leading his loathsome army further and further into the tangled trees. I glanced behind me at the stumbling mass of bestiality, rank with fear, whining with superstition. Their number had diminished throughout the night. I had led them on the most winding, torturous route I could find, trying to lose the stragglers, to drown as many as I could in the ghostly darkness.

The woods became darker, thicker and more tangled, the canopy so dense that the feeble light of dawn could hardly penetrate. The brighter the day grew above the forest, the stronger was the grip of night on the treacherous undergrowth and the twisted trees we forced a passage through. The man behind me jumped as a flying creature burst from the shadows, calling eerily as it passed over his head. The men shivered as the noise of birdsong ceased abruptly, even the night birds that had been our constant companions throughout the hours of darkness were no longer audible.

The chief gripped my arm, pulling me towards him, his face pale beneath its dirt. "Witch," he hissed." Where have you brought us? Where is the Kingdom of the Elves? Are you going to betray us?"

"Be easy," I replied, keeping my voice soft and reassuring. "We are almost there. Do you think the Kingdom of Elves would be easy to find? No, it is hidden in the deepest, darkest part of Mirkwood." My words seemed to assuage his doubt, yet suspicion was not completely removed from his face. Aswen and the Elves would have to come soon; else he would soon slip from my grasp. I peered into the gloom, opening my mind, straining every sense for one glimpse, one whisper of rescue; but even my Elvish eyes and ears could perceive nothing. I began to panic. The men were getting uneasy. They whispered nervously in the darkness, refusing to advance another step into the unknown. Their leader stopped too, staring murderously at me, and I knew that I had lost control over him. I tried my best, using every charm to persuade him to continue, but all my allure did not lessen his distrust, only heightening his lust.

"Witch," he spat, wrenching my hair, kicking me down to the ground. I fought, tooth and nail, but my struggles only caused him to laugh. I reached out, gouging at his cheek, drawing blood, biting hard at his hand pressed over my mouth. He grunted in pain as my teeth closed round his finger and I tasted blood. "Kurva" he snarled, grabbing a branch from the ground. I winced as he brought it down on my head, throwing up my arms to fend off the blow. Again he brought the stick down and a hot knife of pain slashed through my skin. He hit me again and again, others seized sticks and turned on me, thorns tearing my skin, bones cracking. I struggled, but the fight drained out of me. I was deaf to all but the thwack of the stick, the ribald shrieks of my oppressors. Blinded by my own blood I lay impassive, praying only for this agony to end.

Gradually a new noise other than that of sticks forced itself into my awareness; there were screams of pain other than mine, a whoosh of air that could only be... Arrows, I was saved!

I managed to drag my broken body to the edge of the clearing, and, cowering under a bush I surrendered myself to my agony.

"Osellë. Osellë, where are you?" His voice was full of anxiety – almost as if he loved me. I groaned feebly and I heard the light footsteps coming towards me. I forced open swollen, blood caked eyes as I felt myself being gently dragged out from my shelter. "Legolas," I croaked, as he knelt beside me.

"Who did this to you?" he demanded, gently brushing my hair from my face. I sighed, unable to speak for the moment, trying to force down the pain that threatened to overwhelm me. I winced as he carefully wiped the blood from my face, then felt my body expertly to check for injuries. "You'll live," he smiled reassuringly, but, sensing the state of my broken body, I doubted that – now only wishing that I could die in his arms, knowing that he loved me. I allowed myself to let go my frail hold on consciousness, sighing deeply as the rushing waters of oblivion enclosed me.

I came-to to find my head cradled in his lap, his blue-grey eyes gazing intently into mine, "Osellë," he sighed, imprinting a feather-kiss on my bruised lips, his silky, blond hair tickling my face. I found my pain strangely dulled, the fire in my chest and my right arm diminished, allowing me to concentrate on other things.

I returned his gaze, lifting my head as much as I could to allow our lips to meet...

"Oh, have I interrupted something?" Aswen burst unceremoniously into the clearing, the human Vénea in tow. "Not at all," was Legolas' cool reply, but his voice changed when he saw Vénea. A spasm of pain distorted his face as he jerked it away from mine. His eyes flicked from her to I, as if unsure how to react. "Vénea," he muttered uncertainly, signalling my battered body as an explanation for our intimate position. This irked me greatly, he was my husband, and he should need no explanation for intimacy between us.

We were saved by a pair of stretcher-bearers, who seeing me lying on the ground, obviously unable to walk, advanced purposefully toward us. As they levered me onto the stretcher, I caught a view other than of things above me, of the absolute carnage that filled this glade. The ground bristled with arrows, men lay, scattered like driftwood, bathed in their own blood. Blood lay in pools like rain, slowly congealing. Scattered limbs, severed from their owners – twigs hacked from the parent tree. In the midst, a fallen oak, sound on the outside yet rotten within – the chief, the knotted staff hung with my skin and my hair still clutched in his dead grasp.

"Such is the glory of the Elves," I said bitterly and lay back on the stretcher. He nodded, as I was swung up above their heads, like some pagan goddess, with the mournful procession snaking behind.

I flicked in and out of consciousness; whatever I had been given to dull my pain had a soporific effect on me. I found it hard to battle against the compulsion to sleep. I did not want to sleep, I wanted to savour each minute of this painful journey, he was by my side, he held my hand, and for once, nothing existed but he and I. He smiled sadly at me, yet I could sense some restraint, a knife sized barrier that separated us. _"I am sorry, so sorry for that,"_ I whispered, _"I don't know what came over me – a temporary madness that I have atoned for ever since."_

"_It is not I you should apologise to, but she. I suppose I drove you to it. It is so hard, I love both of you and I do not know what to do." _I sighed in condolence, and the barrier between us weakened, yet she still stood in the way and I couldn't remove her.

The procession drew near home – the place those men had wished to destroy, but for which they had been cut down themselves. I shut my eyes, wincing, as I was lifted off the stretcher and onto my bed. I gritted my teeth, determined not to scream, praying only to be left alone to my agony – fat chance of that happening.

I heard a movement at the door, looking round I saw my daughter, tears coursing down her cheeks. She dashed towards me, throwing herself on her knees by the couch and began to cover my face with kisses. I looked up at her, mildly confused, as she pulled herself together, apart from occasional sobs. "They told me... they told me you were hurt, but not this bad."

"I'll live, unfortunately," I sighed, pulling her closer to me. "I have you, I have you, and that's all that matters. Let him go to her, let him abandon me, I still have my daughter." She sat down beside me, talking about everything and nothing, bless her, she was trying to distract me from my pain. I relaxed, letting myself me lulled by her chatter.

Elvish bodies heal amazingly. What would have killed a human, I had almost recovered from in a week. A week after my assault I put my feet tentatively on the floor. My head swam, and I swayed dizzily but my daughter reached out to steady me, and leaning drunkenly on her shoulder, we made our way down to the great hall. As we entered, the whole room rose to their feet. All Thranduil's court was assembled to greet me, and I stood, embarrassed, gazing at their assembled faces. Thranduil himself advanced towards me, I stiffened as he embraced me, then he turned around to face the assembled crowd. "Behold Osellë, our saviour," he said. I blushed scarlet as everyone started clapping, everyone that is except Vénea, who only looked sad and rather hurt, as if she remembered vividly our last meeting. I knew then what I must do; however much it would hurt my pride. Walking up to her, I fell on my knees before her.

"Osellë" she said, looking at me as if I had finally lost it. She would not relieve my embarrassment; I would have to explain myself. I squirmed uncomfortably, my knee twinging painfully, as I fixed my eyes on her, forcing her to meet my gaze. When our eyes were locked I opened my mouth, "Vénea," I said, "I am asking you to forgive me. Forgive me for my momentary fit of madness spurred on by jealousy. I am sorry for behaving as I did, I do not wish you dead, far from it. I am sorry for causing you pain." She gazed, disbelievingly for a moment, doubting the sincerity of my apology, but seeing the utter remorse that my eyes portrayed to her (I had taken great pains to conceal the writhing serpent of jealousy in my heart) she lifted me to my feet, hugging me, and we wept together. I heard a sigh of relief from Legolas, and I flashed him a wan smile, Vénea and I were friends, yes, but there were was much between us still to be resolved.

Thranduil walked up to us, son in tow. "Now you are reconciled, there is another, pressing matter that needs to be settled, follow me," the King said, taking each of us on his arms and leading us out, waving the courtiers away. He led us to a cosy room at the back of the palace, which he used as his retreat. The four of us sat down on high backed chairs, Vénea, Legolas, and I facing him. I realised with a start that he was about to pass judgement on the awkward marriage situation that held Vénea and I both bound to his son.

"Yes, you have guessed why we are here, Osellë." he said, causing me to jump, he'd read my mind, Vénea looked at me strangely – she was human, however long she lived with Elves, we would always be strange.

"Now, my son," he continued, "you are in the attractive, though rather unlawful situation of being married to two bewitching females at once. I must ask you something important. Osellë, Vénea, would you please leave the room for a moment, I don't want your presence to influence what he will say."

Vénea and I rose to go, but Legolas signalled us to remain. "Their presence will not affect what I am going to say, father. You are going to ask me which one of them I love, are you not?" Legolas waited for his father to agree, and then continued. "The truth is I love them both equally. Not many, Elves or Men, are blessed (or cursed) by two true loves, but I am." He ended his defiant stance, and slumping in his chair, he flapped his hands helplessly by his sides, finishing desperately, "What shall I do?"

Thranduil looked intently at each of us, as if gazing our reaction to Legolas' words. "Do you two return his affections?" We both replied with an emphatic yes and he too collapsed, his face mirroring the powerlessness of his son.

"Then, I don't know what to do. Vénea married him first, that is true, and normally Elves do not marry again. However, Legolas' first marriage was not normal – being with a human, a mortal. Surely the fact of her short life as opposed to the averagely long one of an Elf entitles her husband to marry again, as he did, so that means that your marriage, Osellë, is perfectly legal if a bit unconventional." He paused for breath after his longwinded sentence. I had a feeling that he felt utterly incapable to resolve this situation and was only using lengthy explanations to make him appear to know what he was doing. "Your resurrection, Vénea, is certainly unusual, if not unique, among mortals, and so there is no law that determines what should be done. My only suggestion is that you share him."

Legolas gasped, while I gazed blankly at our judge. Share him? Surely that was wrong. "A ménage à trois, then," I blurted out, "We know who the husband is, but which one's the wife and which one's the lover?" the other three looked shocked.

"That you can judge for yourselves," Thranduil said haughtily, "But that is my ruling, unless one of you would relinquish their claim." Silence. "Well then, a ménage à trois it shall be, and I wish you the best of it."

The three of us left, leaving him alone with his thoughts. We gazed at each other uncomfortably, unsure what to do next. Vénea smiled brightly, trying to break the tension between us. "Shall we give it a go then – alternate weeks?" Legolas and I exchanged helpless glances, there seemed no other option short of either Vénea or I leaving, which we were both too much in love, or too selfish, to do.

For four months we tried it, four months of the darkest hell intermingled with snatches of heaven that were all to brief. The hell was the black pit of envy, the gnawing canker that ate at my heart whenever I saw them together. I still loved him intensely, a love only increased by the knowledge that he was still not completely mine, yet those brief times of bliss with him only made the nightmare blacker.

I so wanted to hate Vénea, to hate her for her resurrection, for this stealing of my husband, yet although I was jealous of her, I could not. I saw the same pain in her eyes when I was with him, and knew she felt the same. I wanted, between urges to stab a dagger in her heart, to talk to her, to seek solace from her as one would from someone who suffered the same; yet she grew more distant and more unapproachable. Our friendship was in tatters, and now she spoke to me as one would to a stranger.

The breach between us grew, forming a rift that split the whole court of Thranduil into two camps. I found myself gathering followers, those who collected around me on my days without, comforting me on my loss or spreading malicious rumours about Vénea and the other party. These were generally the elder Elves who had not approved of their Prince's first marriage, and they sought every opportunity to express their disapproval of the situation. The younger ones tended to side with Vénea, not through any hatred of me – I hoped, but because they wished to oppose their elders. The worst blow to me was the loss of Estel and Keldarion. I had nurtured and cherished them since their birth, I had been a mother to them when theirs was dead – but they seemed to forget that. They drifted away from me, avoiding me as if they blamed me for the current situation and spent more and more time with their mother.

I lay alone in my cold bed. He was with her, she was in his bed. I tried to shut my mind to it, to concentrate on the memories of his time with me, but I couldn't. She had my husband in her arms. I had borne it as well as I could for four months – the thought that when I was with him, she felt the same desperation, was the only thing that helped me cope throughout that time. I had forced down my moral scruples, trying to hold onto what I had got and make the best of it, but now I could no longer subdue my revulsion at what I had been a party to.

I stood up rapidly, throwing away the sheets, and began to pace furiously across the floor, endeavouring to force down my anger. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed, a rich, joyful sound. I stopped, the laugh jarring intensely, ringing a cruel mockery of my despair. Suddenly, something within me snapped, and the black waves of insanity rushed up to claim my burning mind. "I cannot cope, I cannot bear this anymore!" I screamed. But what could I do? I couldn't leave, not now. I could never really escape my love for him, I could never find relief. I could confront them, yes, go up to her and tell her how I hated this situation – but what good would that do?

I fell onto my knees, burying my head in my hands; I had never felt so helpless, so alone. I could think of no way to end this pain. _But there is one way_ – one way that has failed before but may well work again. I gave a bitter laugh, not even death would be a permanent solution, but it appeared to be my best option.

"No," I cried, "I cannot kill myself. I promised him I wouldn't take my life,"

'_But does that promise to him count? He promised you to love you and no other, has he kept his vow?'_

"No, No," I screamed, trying to silence that cruel voice of dissent, "He loves me, he loves me!" Yet secretly I doubted it. Who could love someone as much as he said he did I, yet repeatedly tear their heart into shreds by living with another woman as well?

I tried to stifle my doubt, banging my head on the wooden floor to knock out that disloyalty, yet the misgivings still existed. Leaping to my feet, I ran madly at the wall, my brain obscured by a red mist. I threw myself at it, falling to the ground, and lay there, writhing in acute fear. I was going mad, teetering over the brink of reason, gazing into insanity.

I am reaching, but I fall.  
And the night is closing in  
And I stare into the void.  
To the whirlpool of my sin.

**'What Have I Done?' Les Misérables.**

But there is no escape for me. The whirlpool overwhelms me. I am drawn deeper and deeper into the void of my sin, drowning beneath its swirling waters. The black tide of madness closes over my head. While above me the stars slowly die.

With a supreme effort I managed to pull myself up, forcing down the rising panic, compelling myself to lie still on the bed, to collect my scattered wits. Suddenly, the merry laugh sounded again, clear as a bell. It was her. I leapt up, all attempt at sanity forgotten. How dare she laugh, how dare she be happy while I suffer such hellish torment! I would show her the meaning of torment. I would kill her, and this time I would be successful. But where was the knife...

Dashing over to the chest, I threw it open, hurling out its contents over my shoulder, dress by dress, shawl by shawl, not even wincing as a precious glass goblet shattered behind me. I emptied it to the bottom, but the knife wasn't there. I pushed the chest over in frustration, turning my back as the costly wood splintered and cracked. I moved like a whirlwind, a howling banshee, turning over beds, chairs, pulling out drawers, searching for the knife, but I couldn't find it. In desperation, I flung myself on the bed, only to jump up as something cold bruised my ribs. I reached under the bedclothes and held up the slender blade triumphantly, wielding it above my head. I would kill her, I would ram it through her breast and laugh as she died – and then he would be mine!

"But no," said the small voice of reason, "murder is not the way. Will he take me if he knows I am a murderess – no" I gazed intently at the knife, at its sharp, blue metal, at the play of starlight on its killing edge. I couldn't use it to kill another, but I could end my misery another way.

I raised my arm in front of me, knifepoint towards my heart, then brought it down in a sweeping arc, glimmering in the moonlight...

"Noooo..." he screamed, jumping forward, dashing the knife from my grasp. I winced as the sharp point scored a line across my skin, before clattering harmlessly to the ground.

I collapsed on the bed, the demon that had driven my frenzy leaving me, wounded and broken, weeping in his arms.

He raised me up gently, cupping my chin in his hands, kissing the tears from my face. "Don't cry, my love, don't cry," he murmured, hushing me like a child. At last, the storm passed, and I managed to calm myself, though sobs still wracked my shaking body.

I smiled weakly at him, waiting for him to speak, to condemn my suicide attempt, but he said nothing, only smiling sadly and stroked my hair. Soon, I could bear the silence no more and burst out, "I broke my word. I made an attempt on my life when I promised not to. Are you going to condemn me for it? Say something, please. Don't just stare at me in silence."

I turned my brimming eyes to him, trying to force down the tears that threatened to overflow, waiting like a criminal in the dock for the judge's verdict. He shot me an intense, piercing look, which I quailed beneath. Then his face softened and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yes, you broke your word to me, but I an unworthy to condemn you for it. I too have betrayed your trust. I promised to love you totally and exclusively and remain faithful to you – yet I have not." He sighed bitterly, resting his head in his hands. "How can I force you not to put an end to yourself when I myself have driven you to it?" He turned away his head, as if to hide his misery, and I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulders. I was about to whisper some words of endearment when he moved suddenly, pushing me away. He leapt of the bed, dashing towards the spot where the knife lay, and seizing it in trembling hands. He came back to me, his limbs quivering, his face distorted with misery and pain. Turning his face away, he held out the knife to me.

"I dissolve your oath. Take it; it is the only way in which I can relieve your misery. I have brought you to this desperation by my disloyalty, the least I can do is give you the means to end it." I gazed, dumbstruck, as he stood erect, tears coursing down his cheeks, he paused for breath, shaking with painful sobs. With great effort he controlled his grief enough to speak again. "I have betrayed you, betrayed myself, betrayed her. I love her, and that is my sin, to love two at once. I have seen the agony I have put both of you through." He turned the dagger towards his own breast. "I will punish myself for my uncertainty, my gross treatment of two whose only sin was loving me." He tore open his shirt, driving the blade towards his muscular chest. "Farewell, my love..."

"Noooo..." I cried, dashing the knife from his grasp, where it scored a deep red weal across his torso. I expected him to collapse in misery as I had done, but instead he turned on me with blazing eyes.

"I thought you loved me. I am guilty, guilty as hell and you deprive me of the only means of punishing myself."

"Living is much worse than death." I cut in. "If you want to atone, then live, for if you die you are a murderer." I reached over, wrapping my arms around him." If you kill yourself, than you will drive Vénea and me to death, for we would be unable to bear life without you. Life now is a hell, where we sinners are tortured with flaming spears of jealousy – yet at least we know that there is a heaven above us. You die, and that heaven will crumble and our hell will become unbearable."

(I stifled an inward laugh at the sheer corniness of this melodrama – his attempted suicide had been incredibly painful, yet the way he carried it out was so typically heroic, and my equally theatrical reply so archetypal, though sincere, that it almost made me weep)

Legolas smiled ironically, "I have heard that 'hell is other people' so if I was removed, maybe your hell would be a bit less torturous." Seizing him around the neck I kissed him passionately to convince him otherwise. "No, you are not my hell, my hell is myself. My hell is my burning, jealous mind that will not let me rest content with what I have, a half share in your love, without coveting more." (That blasted melodrama again, but what else could I say?) I grimaced, burying my head in his shoulder, and he folded his arms around me, kissing me on my dark head. "Osellë, meleth-nin, my hell would be life without you. We will not think of dying yet, let things continue as they are, they are not quite bad enough for suicide. Suffice it to say that I love you, and that fact will always remain."

"But..." I interrupted, about to contradict him, but he silenced me by placing a slender finger over my mouth. "No buts, love. We promised to live for the moment. We will live for this moment. Past and future do not exist, only now." His lips silenced my further protests, and I surrendered myself to the taste of paradise, which, for all too short a time, would be mine.

I opened my eyes slowly, my mind leisurely returning from the distant lands of my wandering. I tried to stretch, to sit up, but my movements were restricted; at first I thought by the blankets that must have become tangled in the night. I twisted slightly, thinking to extricate myself, when I caught a glimpse of gold above me, hair cascading over my shoulders, glimmering in the early morning. I smiled as I felt the soft strength of encircling arms, the rise and fall of his chest, where my head lay. I looked up, angling my head to gaze at his face. He was asleep still, the fire of his eyes veiled by long-lashed lids, a beatific smile playing across his lips. I reached up and kissed them gently, running my hands tenderly over his high cheekbones, his proud chin, the delicate points of his ears. Sighing contentedly, I settled my head again on his chest, shutting my eyes. I felt happy, happier than I had been since she returned, this was my place, here in his arms, just sleeping – almost as if I had never left it, as if we were still newly wed and nothing had come between us.

He stirred beneath me and his arms gripped me tightly, squeezing so that I could hardly breathe. "Legolas, Legolas," I managed to gasp, and he relaxed his grip, groaning fully awake. He gazed blankly at me through faraway eyes, then his gaze focused, full of mingled joy and sorrow. He smiled again and kissed me gently. "What a lovely sight to wake up to," he said laughingly, and rolled over so that he could look intently into my eyes.

I laughed too, returning his loving gaze, for the moment there was nothing separating us – for the moment we were without reserve, minds and hearts laid open to each other, connecting in a way only Elves could.

My gaze faltered as my eyes blurred with moisture, and I blinked them irritably, hoping that he hadn't noticed my weakness.

"What's wrong?" he solicited, stroking my hair as the silent tears trickled down my face.

"Nothing, nothing," I said sharply, dashing the wet from my eyes. He looked at me enquiringly, and I gave him what I thought was an encouraging smile – but that only deepened his concern. He knew I had lied, he knew I had lied when I had told him there was nothing the matter. He guessed that I had made a painful decision, but he did not know the sacrifice I was about to make. I kissed him passionately, lingeringly, snuggling down beside him and embracing him fervently. I tried to forget, to lose myself in him, but I could not. A black cloud obscured my joy; a fearful foreboding seized my mind. I gazed intently into his blue-grey eyes, and knew that we would never again share such a night...


	11. A Cage of Broken Dreams

**Part Eleven**

**A Cage of Broken Dreams**

Alone in the darkness of my mind,

Hellish visions of unending night

My brain is boiling, but my eyes are blind,

I see only the shadows of departing light.

I plunge into the chasm of insanity

You twist the knife-blade in my bleeding heart

Fires of madness consuming me

I've lost my love, now tear my mind apart

**Osellë, 'Insanity.'**

The thread snapped as I drove the needle through the resisting cloth. I tried again, punching through with more force than necessary, but I only succeeded in tearing the fabric and pricking my finger, depositing a bright stain of blood on the white shirt I had spent all morning on. I threw the shirt away in disgust, and began pacing the room furiously, trying to calm my anxious mind. I picked up a harp in the corner, running my hands over the strings in an effort to produce a soothing melody, but only succeeding in making a harsh discord that complemented my restless mood.

Dashing to the window, I flung myself out (thankfully it was a ground floor one) and ran blindly across the grass, hoping that movement would still the unruly demons that inhabited my mind. No such luck. The impatient mood that had seized me seemed extremely reluctant to relinquish its hold, whatever freakish antics I practiced to try and banish it. At last, utterly exhausted, but still itching, I threw myself on the grass, not heeding the huge grass-stains that ruined my white dress.

What was wrong with me? I was generally so patient, so calm and long suffering, but today I couldn't even sit still for five minutes without suffering the most intense discomfort. Was I going mad again? Fits of insanity had often seized me before, but those were usually in times of great crisis and were coupled with an overwhelming desire to kill someone, generally me. I was like a sparrow before an earthquake, flying around wildly in mad circles – maybe I was on the eve of some major disaster, maybe my awful foreboding was going to be realised.

At last I gained enough self-control to walk fairly soberly homewards – I needed to talk to someone about my bizarre mood, to find some way of relieving it.

I burst through the gates, knocking over an unwary guard, and walked hurriedly towards my chamber, trying desperately not to break into a run. I reached the door to see Aswen positioned outside it; looking as impatient as I. She stood, one hand grasping the handle, foot tapping irritably, periodically shaking the door so violently hat I thought its hinges would give up the ghost.

"Stop Aswen, you'll break the door down." I enjoined and she turned to face me, the full force of her wrathful gaze blazing at me. I brushed this off casually, incensing her still further.

"Where have you been?" she demanded acidly, "I've been hammering at your blasted door for at least half an hour."

"Nowhere, only dashing naked through the forest, screaming like a banshee." I said sarcastically, leaning idly against the wall and studying my nails intently. "Why do _you_ want to see _me _anyway?" She gnashed her teeth in such a frenzy of exasperation, that I took pity on her and ceased my infuriating stance.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, affected politeness hardly masking the cool contempt in my voice. She stared at me, rudely, defiantly – then her gaze faltered, to be replaced by one of worry and distress.

"Osellë," she said, fighting to control her distaste, "I need to talk to you," her voice was concerned and cajoling – causing me to soften.

"You'd better come in," I opened the door and motioned her to a chair while I sat down on the bed.

She was silent for a moment, as if unsure how to begin – she looked at me for help but I stared coldly back. I had granted her an audience but I wouldn't help her to begin.

Her face twisted – caught between dislike for me and a desire for help. At last she burst out, "I'm worried about Vénea. She is ill, she is in bed, but she is not sleeping. She has not eaten for two days – I'm worried about her."

"What can I do?" I asked, not unkindly.

"You can see her, talk to her. You two are in the same boat, maybe she'll listen to you."

"What can I do, her rival, her enemy that you, her friend, cannot?" Her face fell, then she looked at me with bitter accusation. "Her death be on your head." She said simply and turned to go.

In a flash, I remembered Vénea as she had been. I remembered the old times, when we had been friends, before he came between us. I called her back.

"I'll speak to her – although I don't know what good it would do."

She turned, breathing a thank you that must have cost her much, and then hurried from the room. I followed her out the door, making my way slowly, deep in thought, along the corridor to Vénea's room.

I knocked shyly and pushed open the door, gazing towards the bed where Vénea lay motionless. I stared in shock at the pale, gaunt figure that occupied the bed. She had lost a lot of weight and her glazed, blue eyes were sunk in hollow sockets. Her black hair was lustreless; face deathly pale and tinged slightly green, her breath coming in gasping sobs. What was wrong with her? She'd been well enough last night, for I had heard her merry laughter amongst my hellish dreams. What great change had come across her in so short a time?

I stood over the bed, looking down on her as she stirred, opening languid eyes. "Osellë," she snapped awake, sitting up quickly, a hint of anger adding much needed colour to her cheeks. My heart melted, all the hatred I had felt for her before, banished by her pitiful state.

"Be calm, I've been sent to talk to you by Aswen. She is worried about you."

She stiffened, pulling herself up and staring accusingly at me. "You have brought me to this state. I come back from the dead, drawn by an overwhelming love for my husband, only to find him married again, and to my best friend. No wonder I am ill."

"I love him too you know. You joined our hands, you blessed our marriage, and then you seem to think we should dissolve our vows just to accommodate you." I retorted acidly – but remembering that I had come to help and not to accuse or excuse, I softened my tone, saying bitterly. "No use crying over things that cannot be changed." She nodded faintly – calling a truce, and I sat on the bed.

We gazed into space for a moment, unwilling to meet each other's eyes, to remove the cover on the pit of suffering that lay sealed in both our hearts.

At last she broke the silence. "I waited so long, so long last night. He left me, ran out after a loud noise without a word."

I noticed the abject misery in her face, touching her lightly on the shoulder, trying to find some words of comfort but in vain. How could I reassure her when he had been with me? "Well," I muttered, unsure how to begin. "The loud noise was I. I was taken with a – a fit of madness. I heard you laugh, it jarred horribly on my intense despair – and pushed me over the edge. I wad looking for a knife – to end myself."

I paused; fighting for breath, and she gazed at me in shock and disbelief, yet was there a veiled disappointment buried in her compassion, almost as if she regretted that I had not succeeded. I ignored it and continued on – eager to pour out at least some of my built up misery.

"He stopped me, just as I was driving the dagger to my heart. He stayed with me 'til I regained my sanity, until there was no danger of doing myself an injury." She nodded and I grasped her hand. "Vénea, I am going mad. I have had these fits of madness three times before this; once I tried to kill you, and twice myself. I have always recovered, but I fear... I am moving closer and closer to a void, an abyss, towards it brink. I have stumbled before, but recovered, but I fear that only on breath of wind, only the slightest push, and I will be falling, falling into the pit of insanity – and there is no way out."

I buried my face in my hands. I felt empty, drained – I had shown my darkest fear to my worst rival – how would she use it.

I felt hands gently stroking my hair, an arm around my shoulders. "There, there," and I was surprised to hear the voice of Vénea. She had forgiven, she was comforting me.

At last I calmed myself, looking into her face. It was pale, yes, but the yellow tinge had gone, she looked less gaunt, less sickly.

I smiled, and sat closer to her, pleased to have my friend back at last. Yet I was careful about what we talked about, I did not mention Legolas or the pain we had both undergone, such subjects might strain our fragile amity.

Suddenly she burst out, "I've seen how you and Aswen react towards each other, why can't you just be friends instead of abusing each other all the time?"

I shrugged my shoulders, unsure what to say, and decided to avoid the question, blurting out, "Where has she been all these years anyway, and why did she appear so suddenly four months ago?"

Vénea shook her head despairingly, "Aswen's time has been a sad one. She left with her husband because she couldn't stay, she couldn't cope with you as princess, or maybe she just wanted to leave the place. Anyway, she spent many years with Arwen, until she died. Then Aswen went to Rivendell, where she stayed with Elrohir and Galadh."

"I've not heard from them for ages, how are they?" I interrupted, memories of my friendship with Galadh of the Teleri, and Elrohir's passion for me coming back full force.

"Oh, you're curious about your old flame then?" I blushed slightly, but pretended to ignore her. She continued, "When she left them they were well, although I've heard that Rivendell is greatly diminished, as are all of your people. They have children, twin girls, one named after you."

I smiled at this kindness, and then sighed. Who'd bring another Osellë into the world?

"Well, why did she come back and where's her husband?"

"Dead" she said simply, "he was crushed by a falling tree. She came back to bid Mirkwood farewell, before quitting Middle Earth for good – and stayed, surprised to find me miraculously alive."

I rose to go, she looked fatigued and I wanted to be alone to digest what I had just heard. No wonder Aswen was bitter to me, when she had lost her husband. I leant over to kiss Vénea goodbye, and stepped back, giving her an inquisitive look. There was something that had been nagging me about her appearance, her hands placed protectively on her belly, her awful sickness, her larger breasts, and the faint glow that suffused her face. And then it came. She was pregnant. She was carrying his child!

I left abruptly, unable to spend another moment with her. My thoughts were in turmoil, I did not know how to react. An oppressive sadness overwhelmed me – misery, jealousy that she was carrying the child and not me, she who had borne him two sons already.

I moved quickly towards an open window, needing air to soothe my fevered mind. I leaned my hand upon the cool stone windowsill, trying to collect my thoughts. I gazed into the courtyard, close to the stables, letting my eyes flick across the familiar scene. Was it my daughter there, standing with two blond youths?

I craned my neck, sticking my head out into the cool air. Winter was coming on; I could sense it in the chill wind, smelling of snow and storms. I looked towards my daughter, who was leading out a bay mare. The youths I recognised as Estel and Keldarion. They must have just returned, for they had been some months in Ithilien, not so far from where Mordor had once been. Yet they seemed to be going out and not returning. Anxiety nibbled on my heart as I gazed at them. As I watched, they mounted their horses, all three talking and laughing, totally at each with each other and the world – but why then did I have this sense of foreboding, why did the golden twins have a red glow, a crimson halo about their heads? Why then could I see that red eye, hovering malevolently above them, fiery beams fixed upon my daughter? I blinked, and it was gone, as if it had never been; yet the terror of their appearance still remained.

"Vénea, don't go," I called, dashing outside, and my daughter turned towards me." Why not, mother?" she enquired gently as I hurried towards her.

"I have had a vision, a premonition that something bad will happen if you go out riding. Please don't go." She hesitated, as if about to follow my advice.

"Why should she not go," I heard Legolas' voice behind me and looked round, "I'm sure no harm will come to her, and if there is any danger, my sons will be there to protect her."

"But there just the danger I was worried about," I was about to say, but was cut off by a playful hand on the mouth from Estel.

"Don't worry Osellë, we'll take care of her," he said reassuringly, and I nodded wearily.

"You can go, but be careful," I surrendered. Perhaps I had just imagined the threat – I knew the twins would not harm their sister in any way.

I left Legolas where he was and turned sadly back inside, making my way towards my chamber, head down and deep in thought. I felt like a veil had been withdrawn from my eyes, I realised what I had been doing wrong all these months. I had been selfish, thinking only of myself, my pain and my intense jealousy, not of the pain or suffering of others. I sighed,

'Love seeketh not itself to please,  
Nor for itself hath any care,  
But for another gives its ease,  
And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.'

**'The clod and the pebble' William Blake**

I would leave him because I loved him so. I would let him be happy with her. But from a long way away, the reply came, seeming to say.

"Love seeketh only Self to please,  
To bind another to Its delight,  
Joys in another's loss of ease,  
And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.'

**'The clod and the pebble' William Blake**

Would I have the strength to give him up? Could I surrender myself to his happiness? Or would my intense jealousy, my selfishness prevent me.

I bumped into something soft, only to feel firm hands on my shoulders, burning kisses on my face. I looked up into the troubled, passionate blue eyes of Legolas as he leaned over to press another kiss on my lips. I raised my hand to intercept it, forcing him instead to gaze at the desperation and heartbreak in my eyes, and the firm core of resolution.

"She is pregnant," I said slowly, relishing the pain that these words caused me, shutting my eyes so I couldn't see his reaction. "She bears your child – and now my eyes are opened."

"How so?" was the reply.

"Legolas, you shouldn't be torn in two. Your heart is cleaved between the two of us, you are unhappy. You should be one and whole, you should be yourself. This child must have a devoted father – it should not be brought into a world where such suffering and jealousy exists." He opened his mouth to speak, but I silenced him gently with a hand on his lips.

"No. You must let me go. It will give you pain for a while, but she and your child will bring you joy. I do not ask you to forget me, but only see me as a fond memory, a might have been." I moved to go, but he restrained me in strong arms, sealing my mouth with his. "If you go, I will die. It is you I love. Our parting would kill me – destroy you. I will not let you suffer so."

I pulled away, using all my strength to yank myself from his grasp. "Please let me go. It has taken so much agony to make this decision, do not make this agony in vain."

I reached over, to kiss once his surprised lips, before darting away. He seized my arm, making as if to draw me to him. I winced at the pain, yet did not budge, only replying beseechingly." Remember Vénea. She carries your child, yet she is ill – one more grief would kill her and the baby." He paused, slackening his grasp as he digested my word. I pulled away – my heart breaking anew as I hurried towards the door, bleeding for the shock, pain and rejection in his shaking form. He was crying. The tall, proud Elf reduced to tears. I cried too, blinded by falling tears. '_I must be cruel to be kind. I must be cruel to be kind._'I repeated over and over, forcing every ounce of my strength into putting one foot in front of the other.

The door was before me. I stepped over the threshold – and collapsed, my sight dimming, mists creeping over my eyes. _The mists draw back. I am in the forest, the rippling muscles of a horse under me, black hair streaming behind. Laughing loud at the sheer exhilaration of speed, my laughs mingling with those of my blond brothers either side of me. Suddenly, panic seizes me. The two horses press closer to mine, knee to knee; their clear laughter has a manic edge, their eyes glimmer with identical malevolence. I spin my head from side to side, begging each to back off, to give me room. But both faces are cruel and merciless, each full of devilish mirth, bearing down on me, forcing my frightened steed to leap forward. Their blue eyes glow red, possessed, a fiery, evil Eye blazes above their heads. They call out something in a harsh, guttural language, a black tongue that I cannot understand, and yet sends cruel shivers up my spine. My horse screams, trying to wheel away, and I glance forward, my eyes fix on the huge oak tree that looms before me, feet from my face. I tug at the reins, trying to turn away the horse's head, yet the twins are too close, my horse will not stop. Panic overwhelms me as my horse gallops closer and closer to the tree. I yank harder on the reins, crying to them to move away, to let me escape. But they only laugh mockingly. Estel strikes my horse's head and it screams frenziedly, bounding forward, its flailing hooves pawing air, then wood. I shut my eyes, trying to prepare for the bone shaking crash that must surely follow. There is no escape. I am going to die._

I jerked back to my body, crushed by an awful sense of foreboding. My daughter! Something had happened to my daughter! I tried to move, to lift my head, but I was paralyzed by fear – the overwhelming terror of what I had just witnessed forcing me down. With great difficulty I forced open my mouth. "Vénea, my daughter," I shrieked, trying to rise, to go and help her, but I couldn't move.

I felt arms around me, trying to lift me up, as I screamed again, wailing my daughter's name.

"She's mad, she's gone utterly insane!" said a disdainful voice above me. I wanted to yell at them that I wasn't deranged – but I was too crazed with fear to think of anything but my vision, of my daughter, who had just been badly injured, or worse...

I heard faintly, as if from far away, Legolas' voice, anxiously calling my name, demanding of the others what had happened. He knelt beside me, yet I couldn't feel his touch, I couldn't see his beautiful, distressed, anxious face; I could hardly hear his concerned, melodious voice – only the frenzied pounding of panicked hooves, the twins' manic laughter, and the looming tree...

I do not know how long I lay there, utterly prostrated. I felt my mind slipping away, reason consumed by the surging waters of black terror – by my horrific vision that I knew must come true.

Slowly the sound of horses, real not imagined, pierced my consciousness. Two horses where there should have been three. So it was true. A brisk neigh and a cry for help galvanised me, and I leapt to my feet and dashed towards the cry, startling those that clustered around me. As I had feared, there were only two horses, Estel's and Keldarion's, and a pale shape draped motionless across Keldarion's saddlebow.

Leaping towards them, I pushed Keldarion away, anxious only to have my daughter in my arms, to know whether she was alive or dead. I gazed intently at her inert form. She was ghostly pale, her body limp, her delicate neck bent at a peculiar angle, and a poppy bruise on her temple. My daughter was dead beyond a shadow of a doubt. They had killed her.

I caught her inert body into my arms, straining her to my breast, coughing out angry, tearless sighs. I was unable to weep, unable to believe, to comprehend this tragedy. My daughter was dead. The fruit of my womb, my greatest creation, the strongest bond between Legolas and me – gone.

I stroked her pale, clammy cheek; marvelling at the ashen beauty of her lifeless form, the peacefulness of her repose – yet sheer terror filled her glazed eyes. I shut them gently, and gazed again at her pallid face. Surely she was just sleeping; surely her breast rose and fell. I pressed my ear to her lips, hoping to hear some whisper of breath, to find some sign to tell me that she was alive – but there was none.

I felt hands on my shoulders, hands trying to take my daughter from me. No! I didn't want their help. I didn't want their pity. I spun round to face my tormenter, clutching the fragile body. Legolas, his pallid face grief-stricken, reached over to grab her corpse. Even he, the one I loved, even he would deprive me of my daughter, just as his vile sons had done. Snatching her away, I heard a desolate, savage cry, the cry of a wolf fighting for her cubs – which I was aghast to find came from my own mouth. I was further astonished when some weird impulse caused me to run off into the forest with her body, a dog with a bone, to be alone with my grief. Something that was me, yet not me, bit the hand that tried to restrain me, gouging with bestial claws at a smooth cheek, kicking hard until the grip was loosened, and I was free. Ignoring a cry of pain, I darted away, all Elvish morals and sympathies obliterated by the burden of my grief. I was a beast, an animal. Only a small powerless seed of sanity remained, serving only to highlight my insanity.

Kneeling down, I glanced ferociously about, searching for enemies, before devoting myself again to the inert body. Cradling her head in my hands, tears at last came, wild animal howls – the edge of the abyss.

I heard pounding feet come after me, calls like the baying of hounds after a fox. Legolas in front, his musical voice hardly disguising the note of rising panic, calling my name, begging me to come back – even him who I loved would deprive me of my daughter. Behind him Aswen, concern in her tones, but also a veiled derision, a veiled contempt for the wild beast I had become. I felt not anger, but a great sadness, a great dejection. Would they not leave me in peace? The footsteps were now up close, and I glanced up, expecting to see Legolas or Aswen. But no, it was the twins! Suddenly, my sadness vanished, overcome by a boiling, burning, all-consuming fury. Those fiends, those monsters had murdered my child! I turned on them, snarling wildly – all morality, all reason, vanquished by a savage desire to hurt, to kill, to inflict on them the agony that they had caused me. They fended me off with outstretched hands, backing away from me, yet still I advanced.

"She's mad, mad, she would kill us!" Keldarion shouted, panic stricken.

"Back down! You madwoman," Estel said imperiously, drawing his sword, "your daughter's dead, but there's no need to turn on us."

"No need to turn on you?" I spat, "I have cared for you from your infancy, I was a mother to you when you had none, I treated you as my own; yet you lure my daughter into the forest and murder her, and you say there is no need to attack?" Dodging the sword, I delivered a raking cut to his cheek, ignoring the fiery red light in his eye as I assailed his brother. I would gouge out their eyes, destroy their pretty faces, I would drive out the demon that possessed them. A flash of metal blazed near my cheek, and I dashed it away with miraculous ease, sending the blade spinning into the undergrowth, breaking the wrist that held it. Estel collapsed; white faced, yet his eyes still held the fire of Sauron. I bent over him, batting away his brother like a fly as he tried to prevent me. I gave a triumphant yell as I clawed at Estel (or rather the dark Lord in Estel's body) forcing him down, biting for his throat. He thrashed ineffectively, but I had conquered him, I would revenge myself on one of my daughter's murderers and destroy the last remnants of the Enemy. Just inches from his throat, a lightning-blaze of light split the sky, and I was thrown back. I tried to move, to rise, but I was paralysed by an invisible force.

Black tendrils of fiery darkness crept across the sky, dyeing the autumn sun a bloody red, and as I watched, the Shadow descended over the forest, shrouding the trees in a noxious mist. I tried to shut my eyes, to scream, but I could not. I couldn't drag my eyes from the blazing halo of fire that enclosed the twins, their black forms silhouetted against the evil light.

"The Dark Lord has returned. The Dark lord claims Mirkwood as his own." They cried, the harsh noise reverberating while the grass and sky and trees were stained with blood.

I gazed in horror as the manic glare grew closer, the twins advancing, hands outstretched, towards me while the fire kept pace with their onslaught. Their handsome faces were distorted with hatred, their eyes burning with an evil light. I screamed again as Keldarion kicked aside my daughter's prostrate form, which lay in front of me. The heat of the hellish fire seared my face, the acrid smoke catching in my throat as the blaze spread towards me. Flames licked my dress and I leapt up, taking to my heels while around me the forest blazed, while the inferno caught my dead daughter and consumed her. I dashed towards the castle, longing for the safety of its Elf-hallowed walls. But the fire outpaced me and as I reached it, it burst into flames. I darted back like a frightened rabbit, trying to find a way out – but there was no escape. I was surrounded by the blazing hell. I fell to my knees as I fought for breath, trying desperately to break out. "Estel, Keldarion, hear me. Banish the evil that possesses you. Save me." I called, and I watched them advance towards me. I made another frenzied plea, trying to appeal to the remnant of their old selves, but they only laughed.

"You are Evil. Sauron has poisoned you. He has devoured you."

"It is you who he devours, Osellë. Did you know – Sauron possessed father after the Last Battle, it was only his love for Vénea that banished the Dark Lord. Now, it is through the results of that love that the Lord of Mordor regains control. Isn't that ironical?" Estel taunted, stepping mockingly through the flames, as they licked him harmlessly – slave to his evil master. I backed away from him, but the scorching heat of the fire stopped me in my tracks. "Legolas," I cried as Estel shoved me towards the flames. I staggered and then tumbled backwards into the scorching inferno. I screamed as the fire caught my skirt, my hair, as the intense heat blistered my skin, filling my nostrils with the scent of my own burning flesh. My ears rang with the roar of the fire, the manic laughter echoing through the forest. Then darkness took me and I knew no more.

_

* * *

_

_Legolas shuffled, slowly, dejectedly, towards Oselllë's prostrate form, held still under the combined power of his two sons. He signalled to them with a limp hand and they released their grasp on the she elf. She leapt up with a scream, blindly dashing towards a huge oak at the edge of the glade, yet she collapsed before she could reach it. She clawed at the ground with bleeding hands, screaming again and again in a voice of raw terror, "Sauron is here. The Dark Lord has come."_

_Legolas dashed to her side, but she thrashed at him with flailing limbs. He reached out to her, but she no recognition in her glance, only the naked, animal fear._

_He cast a helpless glance towards his sons, who exchanged equally powerless glances. "She's- she's gone insane" Keldarion stammered, always one to state the obvious._

_"Did you see her? She attacked me like a wild beast – and would have killed me had you not intervened She has gone utterly mad."_

_Legolas sighed bitterly, refusing to believe his sons – yet her intense fear and her utter inability to recognise him confirmed their words._

_"The forest is on fire. Evil surrounds us." She screamed, leaping to her feet, glancing around wildly, staring through them to a hell of her own that they could not see. She beat wildly at her clothes, calling, "Estel, Keldarion, Sauron has poisoned you. You are Evil" and the twins exchanged glances of mute horror at this fearful accusation. Legolas gazed accusingly at them, "You have driven her to this. You killed my daughter by your carelessness, and you have driven Osellë mad." Estel was about to protest, but a sound from Osellë stopped his words. Legolas shivered as she shrieked his name, a note of intense longing and sheer terror that cut him to the quick. She collapsed to the ground, screaming again, her body contorted and writhing with agony. Legolas shivered with horror as with a piercing shriek she jerked violently and then lay still._

_He dashed over, and lifting her limp, unresisting form over his shoulder, stumbled wearily towards the castle._

_Legolas shut the heavy door behind him, and with trembling hands turned the key in the lock. He dropped to the ground in a paroxysm of tears, resting his throbbing head in his hands. What had he done? What had he done to Osellë?_

_The light sound of advancing footsteps gradually pierced his dulled consciousness and he looked up painfully. "Vénea," he stumbled to his feet, reaching out to touch her hair, but she brushed him away roughly. Her face was pale and streaked with tears, its expression one of grief and anger. Legolas opened his arms, seeking to comfort her, but she rebuffed him coldly, turning her back._

_"Why do you spurn me?" he asked sadly, gazing beseechingly after her. She turned towards him, staring angrily back, as he asked her again to come to him._

_"No," was her reply. "How can you go on like nothing has happened? How can you seek comfort from me after such a tragedy? She told me she was on the edge of an abyss, that the slightest push would plunge her completely into insanity. She warned you that some disaster would happen if her daughter rode out with our sons, yet you disregarded her. You ignored her premonition – you condemned your own daughter to death and her to madness."_

_"Don't you think I feel it? Can you comprehend the anguish of my guilt, my remorse? Do you think my daughter's death and her madness have not affected me? I love her; I love them both so much. I killed Vénea, destroyed Osellë's beautiful mind. Don't you know that my sin will destroy me too?" He turned his head, so that she wouldn't see the tears that blinded him._

_Vénea turned round and reached out her arms to him, cut by the sheer desolation in his voice – but Legolas stared through her without seeing her, tormented by private thoughts "Yes, how can I embrace her, how can I act like nothing has happened? I have lost the two I love most in this world."_

_Vénea gave a slight whimper – as if to say, 'what about me?' but Legolas ignored her._

_"I did not know how much I loved her until she was taken from me. Mad! Osellë mad, O God."_

_Vénea moaned again and Legolas at last remembered she was there. His dead, desolate eyes gained life and grew fierce – a new anger crept into his voice, "You…We broke her mind, we destroyed her. Our sons killed my daughter, our actions drove her mad." Vénea stiffened at this rebuke, "It was an accident, and act of fate, our sons were careless, they didn't mean to kill her." she retorted – but he interrupted, his voice full of fierce longing and regret. "O Ilúvatar. How I love her. If she hadn't been so distant - so remote. If I had realised before – hundreds of years before that she loved me, if we had married then. If I hadn't been so blind..."_

_"Do you regret me? Do you regret our sons?" Vénea murmured, her voice small and hurt. A look of doubt came into his eyes, a glimmer of affection towards her, but this was soon shadowed by the greater pain of his loss. Vénea saw this, and tried again – her voice harder, yet not quite masking the wound he had caused her. "I love you Legolas, I'm carrying your child."_

_"My child, Ai – my children have destroyed each other. I was told by my father that marriage between an Elf and a human is wrong and ill-starred, that those who marry mortals have strange fates – would that I had listened!"_

_Vénea blanched, cut to the quick by his cruel words. Tears started to her eyes, pouring down her cheeks as she stretched out trembling arms towards him, begging him to relent. But he ignored her entreaty, brushing her away as if she had been a mere fly. He sank to the ground, clutching his head in his hands. Vénea let out a mournful wail at his rebuff, but Legolas didn't flinch – his ears were still ringing with another desperate scream._

_"How could I have been so blind, so foolish to marry you when she was there? Who but a fool falls for a candle-flame when he could have a star – ai, one to equal Elbereth herself?"_

_"Legolas, Legolas" Vénea whined, tears coursing down the pale cheeks, her body trembling with the strength of her grief._

_"No dhínen! Be silent. Go." He said harshly, and she turned and fled, her body shaking with agonised sobs._

_Immersed in his private hell, he paid no heed to her flight, lost as he was in the darkness of his mind. "What have I done?" He sighed, "I have destroyed her, the only thing I ever really loved. Osellë meleth-nin, Goheno nin." 'Osellë my love, forgive me.'_

_The last sunset-shaft of light pierced the gloom, glimmering blood red on the dagger clasped in his trembling hand, as, from the next room, Osellë's insane, agonised screams split the silence._


End file.
